Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking
by FS-13
Summary: It all came down to that one moment. That one ricocheting bullet. That one mistake, easily worse than any of the other mistakes he's ever made with her. How will he be able to fix this? —Tony/Ziva—
1. The Ricochet

**Title: **Somewhere a Clock is Ticking  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T  
><strong>Summary: <strong>It all came down to that one moment. That one ricocheting bullet. That one mistake, easily worse than any of the other mistakes he's ever made with her. How will he be able to fix this?  
>—TonyZiva—  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>If I owned NCIS, Ray and EJ wouldn't exist and Tiva woulda happened four seasons ago. Song belongs to Snow Patrol  
><strong>Beginning Notes: <strong>So...this idea kind of came out of nowhere. But I love it. I really do. I'm an angst junkie (which you'll know if you happen to be a reader of my other story, _When It All Comes Down_), so if you like angst, you'll like this. Hopefully. Not really much to say other than read, please!

* * *

><p><em>I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed<em>_  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter One<strong>_

It was dark.

It had been a long, long couple of months of tracking the Port-to-Port killer, and now it was all coming down to this. This one moment. This dark warehouse. Both teams were split up into pairs, moving quietly through the area, their eyes peeled for any kind of movement in the darkness with nothing but thin beams from their flashlights to guide them, hands gripping guns tightly, fingers wrapped around cool metal.

"_Outside perimeter clear_," McGee reported quietly into the earwig. He'd stayed outside with Levin and Cade. Gibbs and Barrett had ended up paired together, searching the first floor of the warehouse, leaving Tony and Ziva to the basement.

"_First floor clear_," Barrett reported after a moment. Tony sighed as he readjusted his earwig. Another dead end. Of course.

"Basement—"

"_Wait_," Ziva spoke up suddenly, and Tony stopped mid-word.

"Ninja sense tingling, Zee-_vah_?"

"_Tony shut up_," Ziva hissed, tension ringing clear in her voice, and Tony straightened up instantly. A sudden gunshot broke the silence, followed by a quick succession of shots, and the light from Ziva's flashlight disappeared, and Tony jerked his gun up, twisting back and forth, trying to find the source of the noise, the arm holding his flashlight falling to his side as his gun took priority.

"_DiNozzo, report!_" Gibbs ordered tersely; there was a series of flashes as more gunshots rang out, and Tony quickly ran towards the corner the shots were coming from. He could just make out Ziva's small, lithe form, dodging the bullets fired by a larger shadow. He raised his gun and fired off a round, cursing when he missed.

One last shot, and suddenly the larger of the two shadows crumpled as someone — presumably Ziva — put a fatal round in him.

"_DiNozzo, David_!" Gibbs was shouting now, his voice reverberating off the walls and in their ears as he and Barrett hurried down the stairs. "_One of you, answer, now_!"

"Um…suspect down, boss," Tony said uncertainly as he holstered his gun, his eyes flitting to Ziva, who was moving slowly towards him. He swiveled his flashlight around quickly, leveling it with Ziva's shadow, bathing her in light.

The flashlight nearly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

"_ZIVA!_"

He darted forward just in time to catch her as her knees gave out, her body very nearly colliding with hard, unmerciful ground. Her left hand was pressed tightly against her right side, fingers digging into her skin as she attempted, futilely, to stem the flow of blood.

"Boss Ziva's down!" Tony called hurriedly over his shoulder before returning his attention to the woman in front of him. He moved his hand to cover hers, cringing when a low, pained whimper escaped her lips. He didn't notice that Gibbs and Barrett were standing over him now, the former barking orders at McGee to call an ambulance.

"I am fine, Tony," Ziva tried to mumble, but her words were cut off by a sharp cry of pain, and she doubled over, her grip on her side tightening.

"Ziva? _Ziva_!"

He readjusted her so she could lie down on her back, ignoring the token resistance she tried to put up. His free hand sought out hers, his fingers wrapping tightly around her own, shaking ones. "Come on Zi, look at me," he muttered hurriedly, trying — and failing — to get her attention. "Just look at me Ziva, focus on me. Open your eyes Zi, come on…"

"Really…like my name, huh…Tony?" Ziva managed to choke out after a moment, her weak smile turning into a grimace as she cringed harshly, choking back another cry of pain.

"Oh shush," Tony said, moving his hand to her forehead, pushing back a few strands of hair from her sweaty skin. Her eyes opened, just a little, pained mahogany orbs finding panicked green. "All right, good. Just keep your eyes open for me, all right? The ambulance will be here soon, just keep your eyes open, focus on me. You're not going to die. You're not allowed to die."

"I know—" Ziva cut herself off as her entire body arched, another cry escaping her lips. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back the tears that came with hearing her in so much pain.

"Easy, Ziver." Suddenly Gibbs was kneeling beside Tony, resting both hands against Ziva's shoulders as he tried to keep her still. She was trembling violently, clearly in more pain than she was letting on. And that was saying something.

"Come on Ziva," he begged quietly, trying to bring her attention back to him. "You're not allowed to die. I need you, remember? You can't die."

"M'not…going…to…" Her words were lost in a haze of pain, her throat closing around another scream. Tony had to force himself not to look away. He needed to be strong. She _needed_ him to be strong.

It wasn't until Gibbs was dragging him away that Tony realized the paramedics had arrived. And suddenly Ziva was lost in a flurry of activity and words. Everything kind of washed over him. _Gunshot wound…blood loss…ruptured appendix_…

The bullet had hit her appendix.

"All right, let's get her onto the gurney, on three. One, two…"

Tony watched, numbly, as the men lifted Ziva's trembling body onto the gurney, watched as they started to wheel her away. He was still kneeling on the ground, staring at the spot where she'd been lying not twenty seconds earlier. His hands were warm, still sticky with blood.

Blood. Warm, red blood. _Her_ blood.

Tony's stomach turned, and he stumbled up, hurrying away from Gibbs and Barrett. He barely managed to make it into the corner before he doubled over, retching.

It took him a moment to empty his stomach. When he finally came back to his senses, he became aware of a strong hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. He straightened up, shrugging out of Gibbs' grip and yanking his windbreaker off, using it to wipe off his hands the best he could. Desperate to get the feeling of blood — of _Ziva's_ blood — off his skin.

He doubted it would ever go away.

"Okay?" Gibbs asked after a moment as Tony tossed his windbreaker aside, looking disgusted. His skin was almost the same ashen color as Ziva's had been. Tony nodded, yanking his hat off as well, though opting against running his hands through his hair, as he was so desperate to do. "All right. Let's go."

McGee, Levin, and Cade were waiting outside, McGee looking a little worse for wear. He'd gotten a look at Ziva as they had loaded her into the ambulance. It had been almost two years since he'd seen her looking _that _bad.

It was frightening.

"Crime scene is yours," Gibbs informed Barrett stiffly as he started towards the car, beckoning for Tony and McGee to follow. Neither thought twice before doing as they were told.

The short ride to the hospital was spent in silence. Gibbs drove faster than they could ever remember him driving, faster than they could even remember _Ziva_ ever driving. Tony spent the ride staring out the window, watching the lights flash by, seeing nothing but Ziva, bleeding out under his hands, the entire time. McGee just stared straight ahead, praying to whatever god existed that they didn't lose another teammate. That they didn't lose Ziva again.

No one's psyche would be able to handle it.

Especially not Tony's.

It was no surprise, when they arrived at the hospital, all three shoving their badges into the poor receptionist's face, to hear that Ziva was in surgery, and it would probably take more than a couple of hours. Not only did they have to fi the damage done by the bullet, there was also the matter of her ruptured appendix to attend to.

It was going to be awhile, in other words.

They were directed to a waiting room, and then left to…well, wait. Gibbs disappeared for a few minutes to get coffee; he returned with three cups, but neither McGee nor Tony were overly interested in the hospital's disgusting concoction, and Gibbs gave up rather quickly on his own cup. McGee settled back in a chair, preparing for a long wait, his hat gripped tightly in his hands.

And Tony…Tony paced.

He paced the short length of the waiting room, from the window to the wall and back again, over and over and over. He was starting to make McGee nervous, and definitely starting to get on Gibbs' nerves.

"DiNozzo, park it," he ordered finally, losing his patience. "Wearing a hole in the floor isn't going to get her out of surgery any faster. Just sit the hell down."

For a moment Tony considered mutiny. But Gibbs was right, and anyways he was starting to get dizzy. So he sat. He pulled out his cell-phone and tried to play Tetris, giving up when he lost five consecutive times and shoving his phone back into his pocket.

They sat in silence for almost half an hour.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…"

Suddenly Abby came bustling into the waiting room, Ducky right behind her. McGee was the first to stand, and found himself on the receiving end of Abby's bone-crushing hug. "How is she, is she okay, what do you know?" Abby rattled off the words quickly, her arms tight around McGee's neck, effectively preventing him from answering.

"We don't know anything yet, Abby," Gibbs answered in McGee's stead. "She's in surgery now. The paramedics said the bullet ruptured her appendix."

"_What_?" Abby yelped, pulling away from McGee, and Ducky made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Poor dear, I can only imagine the kind of pain she was in…"

Tony closed his eyes, trying very hard not to think about Ziva, lying on the dirt floor of the basement, choking back cries of pain, her body twisting, as if she could somehow escape from it. Escape from the pain.

"She's going to be okay though, right?" Abby demanded, looking between Gibbs and McGee and Tony. "I mean…she's going to be okay? Right?"

"Of course she will be," Tony said quietly, his voice hoarse from having not spoken in hours. "She's Ziva. She knows she doesn't have permission to die, and she's too stubborn for that anyways. She's going to be okay."

Abby smiled shakily before throwing herself at the senior agent, wrapping him in an awkward hug. After a while the group settled back into silence, preparing themselves for a long wait.

* * *

><p>It was almost dawn. Abby and McGee were fast asleep, resting their heads on one another's shoulders. Gibbs was turning an empty cup around his hands — he'd finally managed to finish a cup of coffee. Ducky was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed, but he wasn't asleep. Tony was sitting straight up in his seat, staring at the wall across from him. His eyes were itching, begging for sleep — it had been almost four days since he'd gotten more than three hours of sleep, and that had been hunched over his desk. He was exhausted.<p>

But he would sleep. Not until he knew for sure that Ziva was okay.

He wouldn't sleep.

"Family for Agent David?"

In the time it took to blink everyone was standing, even McGee and Abby. "Dah-veed," they all corrected in one voice. It was a knee-jerk reaction. The tired doctor looked between the group of people, taking in the varying states of weariness, and returned their looks with a weary smile of his own.

"Agent Dah-veed. Sorry."

"How is she?" Gibbs demanded, silently ordering the doctor to get to the point. He wanted to know how is agent was doing, damn it.

"She's out of surgery, we have her up in recovery now. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty touch and go, especially with her appendix, but we managed to get it out without too many problems, she's going to have to be on antibiotics for a while to combat the toxins that managed to get into her system. We also managed to extract the bullet, we're having it sent to your lab now."

"Can we see her?" Abby asked, rubbing her eyes. The doctor smiled sadly in the young woman's direction.

"As I said, she's in recovery now. When we move her to a room, you'll be able to see her. That probably won't be for a couple of hours though." Everyone sighed, a bit of annoyance present in their expressions. All this time, and they _still_ couldn't see her.

"Thanks Doc," Gibbs finally said, running a hand through his greying hair.

"If you want to leave, get some rest, you can leave a number with the receptionist, she can call you when Agent David is in her own room."

"All right." Gibbs turned to face his team. "Go home." They all opened their mouths to argue. "Don't wanna hear it. Go home, get some rest. I'll give 'em my number, when I know something, you'll all know. Now go."

It was surprisingly easy, getting them all to leave. Too easy.

Gibbs really wasn't surprised when he got back to NCIS and found McGee and Tony sitting down in Abby's lab. With Abby, of course.

"I knew that was too easy," he sighed as he leaned against the counter, his eyes roaming over his people. Tony and McGee both looked exhausted; he was surprised they were still managing to sit up straight. And even Caf-Pow didn't seem to quite be doing it for Abby anymore.

"I'm running ballistics now, both on the bullet that hit Ziva and the one that took down the suspect."

"It was a single shot to the head," Tony said before Gibbs could ask. "Probably Ziva's shot. I only got one shot off and I missed."

Before anything else could be said, Barrett walked into the lab with — Tony noted with more than a bit of annoyance — Agent Cruz right behind her.

"Agent Gibbs." Barrett greeted the silver-haired man dryly.

"Agent Barrett."

"How's Ziva?" It was Ray, annoyingly enough, who cut right to the chase. Tony tried not to be too irritated — he knew the man cared about Ziva. But exactly _where_ the hell had he been over ten hours ago when _they _had been sitting in the waiting room, waiting to hear whether Ziva had lived or died?

"She'll live," he said shortly. He knew he _should_ play nice. But _technically_ Ziva wasn't with Ray anymore — so Tony didn't _really_ have to be polite, did he?

"We're still waiting to be able to see her," McGee added quietly. Before anything else could be said, Abby's computer beeped, followed by a low "oh" of surprise, and all eyes turned to the scientist.

"Abby?" Gibbs prompted when she didn't immediately volunteer the information. Abby was biting her lip as she turned to face everyone.

"Um…I'll run it again, because I don't really think that's right, but um…um…"

"Spit it out, Abs."

The woman took a deep breath before she spoke. "I um, I matched the bullet that the doctor…took out of Ziva…it wasn't from the same gun that the suspect was shooting, though."

A confused look flashed over McGee's face, and Gibbs narrowed his eyes. And Tony…Tony had a rather frightening moment of clarity. He sees himself, raising his gun, shooting it. Sees his bullet missing, ricocheting off the wall…

"The bullet was from Tony's gun."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>For the record, I'm not trying to do a "what if" for the finale — I've given up on trying to figure out where _that_ psychotic-ness is going. As long as none of the core people die, I'll be happy. I just really wanted to do this story, and I wanted Ray and EJ involved, and bringing the P2P Killer into it was just the best way to do that. So yeah. Review please? I'm kind of excited for this… —Sam


	2. To Protect Her

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Two<strong>_

Silence.

It rang loudly, as loud as any noise, throughout the suddenly still lab. Eyes turned, pair by pair, to look at Tony, who was still sitting on the floor, frozen.

_"The bullet was from Tony's gun."_

The bullet. _The_ bullet. The one that had ripped through Ziva's soft, beautiful skin. The bullet that had spilled her blood, forever staining the floor and Tony's hands. The bullet that had torn through her appendix, releasing a whole hosts of poisons into her blood system.

_That_ bullet had been fired by Tony.

"I'll…run it again," Abby said after a moment, her voice shaking visibly. "That isn't right, that can't be right. Here, I'll run it again right now…"

"Abby," Gibbs muttered, trying to get the frantic Goth's attention. Tony stood up slowly, feeling as if he was being weighed down by the stares that were coming at him from all directions. Gibbs turned to Tony when it became clear that Abby wasn't going to stop. "DiNozzo." He wasn't surprised when he got no response from the senior agent. "You said you fired a shot, right?" Tony nodded numbly. Gibbs closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "I'm going to need your gun."

There was a long, long moment of silence. "It's up in my desk," Tony mumbled finally, shifting his eyes to the floor.

"I'll have Levin grab it," Barrett said, already pulling her cell-phone out of her pocket and flipping it open, hitting a speed dial. Tony's stomach was doing somersaults — if there had been anything in it, he probably would have been throwing up again.

"_Oh god_."

The low, animalistic groan slipped through Tony's lips before he could stop it. He buried his face in his hands, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Images were flashing through his head at a frightening speed — Ziva's body crumpling into his arms, her fingers wrapped around her side, blood slipping through her clenched her fingers as if they weren't even there, her body arching and twisting as she tried to force herself not to cry out in pain…

Shit. What had he done?

_What had he done_?

Before Tony was really aware of what he was doing, his feet were turning, carrying him out of the lab before he was aware of making the decision to run. He heard Abby yell after him, ignored her. He didn't know where he was going. Didn't notice that he very nearly ran into Levin. He just needed to get away. From the lab. From the stares. From the guilt.

That last one wasn't so easy to run from.

Somehow Tony ended up in the bathroom. Apparently there _was_ still something left in his stomach; he stumbled over to a toilet and instantly threw up. He was shaking as he emptied his stomach, his hands gripping the porcelain tightly.

"Oh god," he mumbled again as he finished emptying his stomach. "Oh god. Oh god."

He pushed himself shakily, tripping a bit as he started towards the sinks. He hadn't gotten two steps out of the stall when suddenly he was being swept off his feet and slammed into the tiled wall, his head snapping back; stars burst to life before his eyes.

"Does the CIA teach its people how to be ninjas too?" He joked weakly as he managed to focus on Ray's furious face. "I'm beginning to think NCIS is gypping us."

"You think this is funny?" Ray hissed; his arm was pressed against Tony' neck, and Tony could feel that he was shaking. "You're making jokes when your _partner_ is lying in the hospital, because of _you_?"

"It was an accident." It sounded like such a weak excuse, even if Tony's ears. Especially in Tony's ears.

"You _shot_ her."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Tony shoved Ray away, stumbling a bit when he was released from the angry man's grip.

"You were responsible for protecting her," Ray snapped, straightening up and fixing Tony with a glare that had probably had dozens of men cowering in a corner. Tony, however, simply returned the look with an icy glare of his own.

"Do you even _know_ Ziva? No one protects her — _she's_ the one that does the protecting."

"She's not as strong as she likes to think," Ray argued. "She needs someone to protect her whether she wants to admit it or not. And that was _your_ job in that warehouse. You were supposed to protect her. You failed."

"Go to hell," Tony snapped, losing his patience completely. He didn't need CI-freakin'-Ray reminding him that he had screwed up. That he had _shot_ his partner. His conscience was doing an absolutely fine job of reminding him of that all on its own. "You don't know what happened in that basement, you weren't there, so why don't you just mind your own god damn business?"

"I know she could have died. Would you still be making _jokes_ if she was dead, DiNozzo? Would you still be making jokes if you had her blood on your hands?"

Who did this son of a _bitch_ think he was, exactly? Tony had had enough. "You know, Cruz, maybe you haven't noticed, but Ziva? Not exactly interested in being with you anymore. You guys were doomed from the start, Ziva was bound to learn eventually that you can't trust the CIA. So maybe you should just accept that now and stop acting like you have any say in her life. What happens to her from now on is none of your concern. So stop acting like you matter to her. Stop acting like whether she lives or dies has any impact at all on your life."

And with that he shoved past Ray, going back out into the hall. Where he was going, he didn't know. He just had to get away from Ray. Away from the accusations, the hatred, that he so rightly deserved.

Gibbs caught up to him at the elevator. "I need you to fill out an incident report." Fabulous. "I don't care when you find time to do it, just have it on my desk by the end of the day." Great. "They moved Ziva to a room. We can see her now."

Well that solved the problem of where Tony was going.

* * *

><p>Why was everything <em>white<em> in hospitals? White walls, white sheets, white blankets, white pillows. White, white, white.

Tony never thought he could hate white so much.

It was damn frightening, walking into the hospital room, seeing Ziva looking so small, buried under all the freakin' white.

No one that strong belonged in a hospital.

_"Don't wake her," Ducky warned Tony as he started into Ziva's hospital room. "It took forever to get her to even close her eyes, and she refused to be drugged."_

_"I didn't plan on waking her up," Tony promised. He was probably the last person she wanted to see; he wasn't going to bother her when she was finally getting the sleep she needed and deserved. "I just…want to see her, Ducky. Please."_

_It had taken a surprising amount of strong-arming to get Ziva to agree to go to the hospital. She'd insisted she was fine, even as her legs had nearly given out; the combined efforts of Abby, McGee, and Ducky had kept her from crumpling to the floor. At that point Gibbs had given her two choices: either she went to the hospital willingly or he knocked her out and dragged her there by force. No one believed he really would have done that — it literally _hurt_, looking at Ziva, seeing the condition she was in. No one would have been able to cause her any more pain, even for her own good._

_Ziva didn't know that though._

_Ziva was indeed asleep when Tony finally managed to get into the room. She was breathing shakily — Ducky said there was chemical damage to her lungs — and the bruises on her face were all the more prominent against the white pillow she was lying against. She was small — so small in that bed._

_But she was alive. After nearly a month of thinking she was dead, that was what stood out most in Tony's mind. She was _alive_._

_That was what mattered most_.

"Seems like every time you're in the hospital it's my fault, huh?" Tony joked weakly as he dragged a chair over to the bed and sat down, his legs giving out from beneath him. He reached over, wrapping both of his hands around her own, significantly smaller one. He'd never noticed before, not even after Somalia, but without all her bluster and swagger and confidence, Ziva really was just…_tiny_. Not that he wasn't well aware that she was shorter than him. He'd made the mistake of making a comment about it — _once_ — and had come within an inch of losing his life to a paperclip that she had quite literally produced out of nowhere (they'd been canvasing a neighborhood at the time). But what she lacked in height, she more than made up for in bravado.

Now, though, the bravado was gone. Lost in a haze of drugs and blood loss and toxins and damn it why was she so _small_?

"I'm sorry," Tony said after a minute, his voice cracking. He would have been embarrassed if anyone else had been in the room. "I'm so, so…_so_ sorry, Ziva. I know that's not nearly enough, considering…considering." He couldn't think of what else to say. Considering what? Considering he had fired off a bad shot, caused it to ricochet, nearly cost Ziva her life? He closed his eyes, raising both his hands, still wrapped around hers, and resting them against his forehead. "Damn it," he groaned after a moment as a single, unwarranted tear slipped past his tightly squeezed eyelids. His breathing turned shallow, a lump forming in his throat, shudders running through his body.

He had shot Ziva. _He had shot Ziva_.

"_Fuck_, Ziva…I'm so sorry."

How long he sat like that, he wasn't sure. He didn't feel the fingers, still tight in his grip, attempt to flinch. Didn't see Ziva's head jerk, just a little.

He did, however, hear the small, "_Ow_…"

"Ziva?" Tony's head jerked up, and he saw her eyes fluttering. "What's wrong, are you in pain?"

"My fingers…" Tony tilted his head, confused. She had a bullet hole in her side, an appendix that had been ruptured by a bullet, and she was worried about her _fingers_? "Too tight…Tony…"

"_Oh_!" Tony yanked his hands away quickly, releasing Ziva's fingers. She smiled weakly as she raised her hand, flexing her fingers and watching them move. "Sorry—"

"It is fine," Ziva cut him off, still watching her fingers move. "I do not think anything is broken." After a moment she groaned lightly, moving her hand to cover her right side.

"What?" Tony asked at once, his back stiffening. "What's wrong?"

"Well, Tony, I think I was shot. That generally tends to hurt, yes?" She missed the flash of pain, the guilt that flitted across Tony's face. "Did we get him?" She asked after a moment, moving her gaze back to Tony, who hurriedly put on as strong of a look as he could muster.

"You don't remember?" She shook her head slowly. "You put a round in his head. It's over. It's all over."

"Good," Ziva breathed, closing her eyes for a moment, her fingers tight around her side. "_Ugh_…it has been awhile since I have been shot, but I do not remember it hurting this much…"

Every word felt like a knife in Tony's chest. "The um…the bullet actually…hit your appendix. Ruptured it." Ziva groaned again. "Right. Like it can't get any worse, right?" Tony tried to make a joke, tried to smile; it felt more like a grimace.

"Are you hurt?" Ziva asked after a minute, and damn it all if Tony didn't _feel_ his lungs crumple in on themselves. She was asking if he was all right. Ziva was asking if the guy that had _shot her_ was all right.

"Tony? What's wrong?"

Ziva's voice came to him through what felt like a long, watery cave. He could barely hear what she was saying. The scene flashed through his mind again, as if on fast-forward. Ziva, falling. Ziva, bleeding. Ziva, _in pain_. Ziva, dying.

Tony didn't remember standing. He didn't remember raising her fist, or slamming it repeatedly into the white plaster wall.

"_Tony_!"

A strong hand grabbed Tony's wrist and shoved him away from the wall in one fluid motion. Tony knew even before the man spoke who had stopped him. "DiNozzo, stop decorating the wall. David get back in the god _damn_ bed."

Tony jerked his head, looking over his shoulder, surprised, though not really, to see Ziva halfway out of bed and doubled over on herself, clutching her side tightly, the wires of the machines and IVs she was hooked up to holding her back. Gibbs crossed the room when Ziva didn't respond. "I am fine," she muttered through clenched teeth as Gibbs rested his hands on her shoulders. Tony couldn't take it anymore; he turned and ran out.

For a brief moment, the emotional hurt of seeing Tony run seemed to take over as Ziva raised her head to watch the man flee. Gibbs' grip on her shoulders tightened a bit as he helped the weakened woman back into bed.

"What is going on?" She asked as she settled back on her pillows, closing her eyes for a moment. Gibbs hesitated as he pulled away from Ziva. What was he supposed to tell her? That Tony felt guilty for shooting his partner? It wasn't his story, or his place to tell her.

Tony didn't know where he was going; a common theme that day. He knew he just needed to get away. Away from Ziva. Away from her misplaced worries over _his_ well-being. Away from the guilt.

He was going to be running away from _that_ for a long time.

Tony wasn't really surprised when Gibbs caught up with him. Despite the urgent need to run, he really wasn't moving all that fast. He'd just made it into the stairwell when Gibbs caught his shoulder, holding him back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Wasn't that the question of the hour. "I don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Does it matter?"

"Yes it matters, you just scared your injured partner half to death! She doesn't need you breaking down in her hospital room, DiNozzo—"

"You think I don't know that?" It was a sign of how stressed out and absolutely fried Tony was that he turned on Gibbs, yelling, his voice echoing through the stairwell. "You think I don't fucking _know_ that she doesn't need me, that I haven't already done enough damage? I get it, Gibbs, all right? I shot her. I shot Ziva. I almost _killed_ Ziva. I fucked up, I get it! I get it."

Gibbs, for his part, was patient as he waited for Tony to finish shouting, waited until the words had long since died and Tony just stood there, his chest heaving as if he had just run a mile. "You done?" No answer. "Good." Gibbs raised a hand, slapping Tony upside the head. "I didn't say she doesn't need _you_. She just doesn't need your mental problems. She's always going to need you, DiNozzo. That's not the point, though. I know you feel guilty — hell, that's the only thing that's keeping me from kicking your ass. Do ya really think she's gonna blame you, though? It was dark down there. The bullet ricocheted of a metal panel, it was a freak accident. Coulda happened to any of us."

"Yeah," Tony agreed after a moment, still breathing heavily. "Except it didn't. It happened to _her_, because of _me_."

And with that, Gibbs knew he wasn't going to be snapping Tony out of his self-loathing any time soon. "Get your hand fixed up," he said, gesturing at the mangled mess that was Tony's broken fingers. "Then get your ass back up there and explain yourself to her. She's not going to blame you. You know she won't."

Gibbs turned, leaving Tony alone in the stairwell. No. Ziva _wouldn't_ blame him. It was more likely that she would come up with some story about another time she'd fallen victim to friendly fire.

He wasn't any better than the people she'd worked with at Mossad.

Tony went down to the emergency room, had his hand looked at. Three hours and one plaster wrapped hand later, he was leaving the hospital parking lot, heading home.

He couldn't face Ziva again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So here's the deal…I got a _lot_ of Story and Favorite Alerts for this. Not so much on reviews. And I realize that a lot of the time people will favorite a story to see where it's going, and if that happens to be you, could you maybe review this time and let me know what you think? I'm kind of nervous about this story, some encouragement would be nice. Review please? — Sam


	3. The Thing About Alcohol

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Three<strong>_

It had been nearly six hours since Tony had run out of Ziva's room. _I'm going to kill him, _Gibbs thought fiercely as he watched Ziva struggle against sleep. She wanted to be awake if Tony came back.

It wasn't that Gibbs didn't sympathize. Not that he had ever shot his partner — he couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on in his senior agent's head at that moment. The guilt _had_ to be eating at Tony.

But that didn't meant he had to _let _it. Didn't mean he had to _wallow_ in the guilt, let it consume him. That road wasn't going to lead anywhere good.

McGee had tried to trace Tony's phone; he had turned it off. They had all tried calling him more than once; he wasn't answering his phone. McGee had even gone to Tony's apartment; no answer.

"Ziva, go to sleep," Gibbs ordered quietly as he once again watched her head fall, only to snap back up again as she blinked rapidly. The fight to stay awake was taking its toll on her.

"I am fine—"

"Ziva," Gibbs cut her off flatly, not in the mood to listen to the denials. She was obviously thoroughly exhausted. She wasn't doing herself any favors by worrying about her idiot partner. "Leave DiNozzo to us, all right? You need to rest."

Ziva sighed, her shoulders falling as she allowed her head to fall, closing her eyes. "What is going on?" She murmured after a moment. Gibbs was saved from having to answer as her breathing quickly evened out; she was asleep before he even had to think about what he would say.

He slipped out of the room, pulling out his cell-phone and dialing. "_McGee_." The poor man sounded as exhausted as Ziva looked — and he hadn't even been shot.

"Found him yet?"

"_No. His phone his still off, Abby just came back from his apartment, if he's there he's still not answering. Sorry, boss._"

"Don't be." Gibbs ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Go home, McGee. DiNozzo isn't going to be found if he doesn't want to be, no use in wearing ourselves down trying."

"_Right. Thanks, boss._" Gibbs was about to hang up when McGee suddenly asked, "_How's Ziva_?"

Gibbs looked back into Ziva's room, watching her sleep. "She's in pain and refusing pain meds and she doesn't get what the hell is going on with DiNozzo."

He snapped his phone shut without another word.

* * *

><p>By the third time someone knocked on Tony's door, Tony decided he'd had enough. He down the rest of his beer, setting it down on the coffee table with the others and jumping up, stomping over to the door. He flung the door open, already prepared to yell…<p>

And froze when he saw not his boss, not Abby or McGee or even Ducky standing in the hallway.

"Try not to look so happy to see me," EJ half-joked as she pushed her way into Tony's apartment. She tsk-ed at the sight of the collection of beer bottles on the coffee table before turning back to her obviously drunken boyfriend. "So Agent McGee and Abby are going crazy trying to find you, and you're just sitting here getting drunk? Nice."

"Go away," Tony mumbled, looking away from the blonde agent. He wasn't in the mood.

"What's your problem?"

"My _problem_?" Tony repeated furiously, his eyes flaring as he turned back to EJ. "You want to know what my _problem _is? My _problem_ is that I _shot_ my fucking partner when I was supposed to be backing her up! I was supposed to protect her and I nearly _killed_ her, that's my _problem_!"

"Did you shoot her?" EJ asked sarcastically. "Because you know, I wasn't standing _right there_ when you found out, I had absolutely _no_ idea—"

"What the hell do you want, EJ?" He cut her off roughly. Sometimes her sarcasm was cute. Now it was just infuriating and inappropriate.

"I _want_ you to snap out of this self-pity-guilt thing—"

"_Self-pity-guilt thing_? Is that what you think this is?"

"You're sitting in your apartment getting drunk off your ass, you're damn right that's what I think this is!" Two could play at the shouting game. "It was an _accident_, Tony—"

"Oh, an accident, so that makes it _all_ better." And two could play at the sarcasm game.

"There's a difference!"

"Yeah? And how different would it be if it was _you_ and you'd put a bullet in Cade or Levin? Would you just say 'oh it was an accident' and move on?"

"Well I wouldn't be sitting in my apartment getting drunk, that's for sure," EJ shot back, but Tony saw the uncertainty that flashed through her features. "I _know_ you feel guilty, Tony — I can't even begin to imagine what's going on in your head right now, and honestly, I don't _want_ to imagine. And I'm _sorry_, I really am. But Agent David is going to be okay, and I'm sure she won't blame you—"

"I know she won't blame me," Tony mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He felt as if the fight had drained out of him.

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's not always about blame!" And with that the fight was back. "I'm not worried about her _blaming _me, Ziva's got the most twisted fucking mind of anyone I've ever met, she blamed _herself_ when she was captured and held hostage and fucking tortured and _raped_ for three months!" By now EJ's mouth was just about on the floor. Her eyes almost fell out of her head at that last part. "It's not always about blame," Tony repeated after a moment, his voice softer, wavering.

"Then what are you worried about?" Tony didn't answer. "Your job? Do you think there's going to be an inquiry? It wasn't a bad shot, Tony, even if there _is_ an inquiry they're not going to find anything—"

"It's not about the job!" _God_, why wasn't she getting it? "It's not about the _fucking_ job, it's not about whether or not I'm going to be _blamed_, this is about _Ziva_! This is about the fact that _Ziva_ is lying in a hospital, that she almost died, that _I shot her_! That's what this is about!"

"Tony—"

"Get out." She didn't get it. She didn't get it. She wasn't going to get it. And Tony was sick of listening to her justify his unjustifiable actions. "Just get the hell_ out_."

EJ stared at him for a long time before finally turning and walking out. Tony watched her go, unable, even, to find it in himself to feel bad for the way he had treated her. She didn't understand.

It was impossible for anyone to understand.

"Fuck," Tony mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He turned and headed for the kitchen, all thoughts on getting another beer.

It was a bad night — to say the least. Tony passed out a little after ten as countless days' worth of sleep deprivation caught up to him. His dreams were filled with bullets and gun and Ziva collapsing into his arms as warm, red liquid pulsed out of a hole in her side at a frightening rate. When Tony awoke again, just before dawn, the stress of the nightmares and the amount of alcohol he'd consumed forced him to make a dash to the bathroom to expel whatever was in his stomach.

"Shit," he moaned as he allowed his body to crumple against the tile floor, his head coming to a rest on the carpet in front of his bathtub. The images were flashing through his mind, causing his stomach to twist, and he quickly found himself leaning over the toilet again, dry heaving — it had been a while since he'd eaten; and with the amount he had been throwing up, it was no surprise that there was nothing left in his stomach.

_You shot Ziva_.

It didn't matter that it had been an accident, that she was going to be okay, that she didn't _blame_ him. It all came down to one thing. He had _shot_ Ziva.

And nothing would ever change that.

* * *

><p>Tony was at NCIS before the sun had risen. He felt like crap, he looked like crap, there was no doubt in his mind if he came into contact with small children they would run screaming in the other direction, declaring him a monster.<p>

They would never have realized how right they were.

"_Tony_!"

It was just after six when Abby's frantic squeal broke the silence and nearly shattered Tony's poor, pounding head. Before he had time to react, the Goth had thrown herself at Tony, wrapping him in an awkward hug.

"Abby…" He muttered, squeezing his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you! Do you know how worried everyone was, McGee was going nuts trying to find you, Gibbs was furious, Ziva's been worried sick, she said you went all Hulk on her hospital room wall — well, actually she just said you punched the hell out of her wall, I added the Hulk part, but you know what I mean—"

Tony's stomach flipped at the mention of Ziva, and he not-so-gently pushed Abby away, eliciting a bit of a surprised look from her. "I need to get this report done, Abs, so if you don't mind…"

"Tony…" Abby was torn between sounding bewildered and sounding hurt. "You should go see Ziva. She's really worried about you."

"Well she's an idiot."

The words held more venom than Tony had really meant. But for God's sake, it was _true_. She was worrying about the person that had shot her. What was the use of that?

Abby's mouth was just about on the floor now. "_Tony_!" She didn't understand why the man was being so mean. She knew he was feeling guilty — to be honest, she would have been surprised if he was completely okay. But that didn't explain why he was acting the way he was.

"Well she is," Tony said angrily as he slammed a button on his keyboard, printing the incident report he'd been clumsily typing one-handed for the last couple of hours. He grabbed the report of the printer and shoved it into a manila folder before grabbing a single sheet off his desk and throwing both the paper (a request for time off) and the folder onto Gibbs' desk. "Tell McGee to stop coming by my apartment. And you stop coming too. I don't need someone checking in on me."

He grabbed his jacket and walked away without another word, leaving a shell-shocked Abby behind him.

* * *

><p>The next three days were spent getting as drunk as Tony could manage without requiring having to go to the hospital to have his stomach pumped. He would have done anything to keep from being within close proximity of Ziva. He couldn't stand the idea.<p>

So instead he drank. He drank, he slept, he had nightmares, nightmares that got worse and worse as time went on, until eventually he was watching Ziva bleed out under hands and die and he knew, the entire time, that _he_ had been the one to fire the bullet that had ended her life.

People came. They knocked on his door. They yelled at him through the wood, calling him an idiot and telling him to stop being so damn stubborn. He didn't answer any of them. He couldn't. He couldn't hear them say that they were worried, that _Ziva_ was worried. He didn't want them to say that it wasn't his fault. That he shouldn't be doing this to himself.

He just had no interest in hearing it.

* * *

><p>It had been three days since anyone had seen DiNozzo's face, and Gibbs was starting to lose his patience. He was just about ready to go to the man's apartment and drag him out, by force, if necessary. Not always the kindest approach. But it was effective.<p>

Ziva was largely still in the dark about everything. No one had told her why she hadn't seen Tony since she'd woken up — it just wasn't their place. There was also no explanation given as to why Tony had decided to get into a fight with the wall, and while it was obvious Ziva was frustrated with the lack of answers, she'd given up on asking, acknowledging that her wayward partner was the only one who could tell her what she wanted to know.

"How ya doin'?" Gibbs asked as he made his way into the hospital room. He made it a point to stop by once a day, at the very least. Sometimes it was all he could do. Ziva was just grateful he came to visit at all. Unlike—

_Do not go there_, Ziva ordered herself at once.

"I am fine. _Bored_." She added that last part pointedly, and Gibbs smirked a bit.

"No planning any big hospital break-outs just yet. You stay in that bed until the doctors says otherwise, ya hear me?"

"Hypocrite."

"I can be — I'm the boss."

Ziva managed a small smile as Gibbs sat down. After a moment the smile faded as she hesitantly said, "Tony?" Gibbs' lack of answer was enough; Ziva sighed, slumping back against the pillow. "Did I say something to him?" The question surprised Gibbs a bit. "I know I tend to be a bit…out of it when I am injured, and to be honest I do not remember much of what happened in the warehouse, the last thing I clearly remember is McGee getting the address. Did I say something, did I do something to him?"

It was obvious these questions had been burning in the back of her mind for a while. Gibbs reached a hand out, brushing his fingers over her knuckles, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not quite able to hide the tears that were beginning to well up. She was really hurt — more so than she would ever let on — that Tony was avoiding her so intently.

"It's not you, Ziver." If ever there was a cliché line. "DiNozzo just…has a lot going on in his head right now. He needs to deal with it before he can face you."

"He was _fine_ when I first woke up, though!"

That wasn't strictly true, and Gibbs knew it. He had just been keeping up a damn good pretense. What had changed?

Ziva's eyes shifted suddenly, landing on some spot behind Gibbs, her expression taking on a bit of a surprise and a faint hint of annoyance.

"Ray."

Well that explained the annoyance. Gibbs twisted his head to look over his shoulder at the CIA agent standing in the door of Ziva's hospital room. "Ziva," the man greeted her softly before turning his gaze to Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs, may I speak with Ziva alone?"

He was polite, at least. Gibbs was still tempted to say no, of course. But he turned to Ziva, who jerked her head once in consent, and he stood, saying something about going down to the cafeteria and getting something to eat before taking his leave.

When he returned half an hour later, both Ray and Ziva were gone.

* * *

><p><em>What are you going to do when your vacation time runs out?<em> A voice in the back of Tony's head asked as he popped open his first beer of the day. _When you have to go back to work and face your boss and Abby and McGee and Ziva? What are you going to do then, DiNozzo?_

That was something he really didn't want to think about, for the moment. So instead he drank, draining the bottle within ten minutes and going to his fridge to get another one. He had a good three weeks of vacation time built up, after all. Of course, three weeks could go by fast when one spent every single moment of those days drinking.

But Tony would worry about that when he got to that point.

He wasn't really surprised when the sound of knuckles against wood broke the silence of his apartment. Granted they were a little earlier than usual. Maybe it was EJ, back again to act like she had any fucking clue about what he was going through.

Somehow, the thought was enough to fuel Tony to the door, if anything else just to tell her to go away. Just the idea of it being _her_ on the other side of that wood infuriated him. And he wasn't even drunk yet.

He grabbed the door, throwing it open, already saying, "I'm not interested—"

And he stopped. His mouth hanging open as his eyes registered who it was standing on his doorstep.

"Hello Tony."

It took him a few moments to process. He blinked. Made sure he wasn't hallucinating. Blinked again. Contemplated pinching himself. Except his dreams hadn't been _this_ nice to him in days. He blinked once more. Nope. She was still there.

"Ziva."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So that season finale…subpar at best, in my humble opinion. Not nearly as much as Tiva as I was expecting, and a little too much EJ. I just wasn't impressed. Oh well. Review please? — Sam


	4. Mistakes

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Four<strong>_

It was entirely too sobering, seeing Ziva standing on his doorstep. Tony swallowed a couple of times, trying to absorb the full reality of this.

There was no way she'd been released from the hospital. That was the first conscious thought that registered in Tony's head. She'd been shot three _freakin'_ days ago, for god's sake. Which was bad enough on its own. Then with her appendix, and all that crap that had been running through her body because of that…no. There was just no way any _sane _doctor would let her go this soon.

So which psychotic co-worker had helped her escape?

"Take a picture, Tony. I hear they last longer."

It was then that Tony realized he was staring. Full on, mouth-on-the-floor-staring. Well Jesus, of _course_ he was staring. Why wasn't she in the hospital?

"What…What the hell are you doing here, Ziva?"

At this she smirked, albeit a bit weakly. She was still paler than Tony was used to seeing, and he couldn't help but notice that she was nursing her injured side just a bit. She was probably in pain.

"Well that sounds familiar. If I remember correctly that is what you said _last time_ you did not want to see me as well." It took Tony a minute to get what she was talking about. Oh. The bullpen. Five years ago. Right. Christ, had it really been five years? "I suppose it would be asking too much to come in, then?"

"Oh. Um…yeah." He stepped aside hurriedly, not missing the slight hesitation in Ziva's step or the way she winced when she was move. "Why aren't you in the hospital?" He demanded as he closed the door.

"Two reasons. One, I do not like hospitals. And two, it is difficult to kick your ass when _I_ am in the hospital and _you_ are not." Tony probably should have been expecting an answer like that.

"Wait, why are you kicking my ass?"

"Because you are being an idiot."

"You broke out of the hospital to tell me I'm an idiot?" Tony snorted. "That's a little extreme, don't you think?"

"_I_ think it is a little extreme for you to take three weeks off from work and lock yourself in your apartment just so you can drink yourself into a coma. But that is just me."

"Right." She was just like everyone else. She didn't understand. "Listen, no offense, but you don't know what's been going on the last few days, so I don't think you're in any position to judge what I've been doing."

"Oh of course," Ziva shot back sarcastically. "I have _no_ idea what has been going on the last couple of days. I know absolutely nothing about the fact that you fired a shot at the suspect and the bullet ricocheted and accidentally hit me, and that you've been locked in your apartment ever since. No. I know _nothing_ at all."

Tony's mouth fell open further, if such a thing was possible. "What…I…how did you…?"

"Ray told me." Of course he did. Stupid, self-righteous, CIA bastard…

"Tony—"

"Whatever you have to say, I don't wanna hear it," Tony snapped, effectively cutting her off. "I'm sure you have plenty to say about friendly fire and you've been hit by it before, and it's not that big of a deal, you're still alive, this was just an accident, we'll all move on from it, blah, blah, blah…I'm not interested."

Ziva waited patiently, crossing her arms over her chest, her composure the picture of tranquility. For some reason that pissed Tony off more. "What, you're not going to say anything?" He taunted. "Is Ziva David actually at a loss for words?"

"Just waiting for you to finish venting," Ziva replied calmly. "By the way, how much have you had to drink this morning?" Tony hesitated as he tried to figure this out. "Never-mind. If you can't figure out the answer then it is probably too many."

"Well aren't you just a little know-it-all."

The alcohol was making Tony mean and obnoxious. All he really wanted to do was grab Ziva and hug her and apologize and never let her go ever again.

But she was right — for it being only ten in the morning, he'd already drank way too much.

"I know you feel guilty—"

"You don't know a damn thing."

"Funny you should say that, considering you just called me a know-it-all." Tony didn't really have an answer to that. "As I was saying, I know you feel guilty. Hurting someone you care about, and hurting them _badly _no less…it is painful. You do not know what to do with yourself. You do not know how to feel. Your emotions are all over the place—"

"Because you know _so_ much about emotions, right?" If Tony had been even _half_ in his right mind, he wouldn't have missed the flash of hurt that flitted across Ziva's face. That had been a low blow.

"I _get_ that you are hurting, Tony. Believe it or not, I _do_ know. It is no reason to drive everyone away, though, no reason to lock yourself in your apartment and only to leave single-handedly fund the liquor store down the street. Everyone is worried—"

"Well they shouldn't be!" Ziva cast a disbelieving eye around Tony's apartment before looking back at him. "I never asked them to worry—"

"Just because you do not ask a person to do something does not mean they won't anyways," Ziva cut Tony off quietly. "We _are_ worried." He noted dimly that she counted herself in the group this time.

"Well don't be," Tony snapped, turning away. He was unable to look at her anymore. "I'm fine."

"You do not _look_ fine," Ziva shot back. This was getting to be such a ridiculous conversation. They were going in circles. And Tony could tell, through the calm demeanor, that she was starting to lose her patience.

"Well looks can be deceiving, can't they?"

"Tony—"

"Why are you even out of the hospital?" Tony cut Ziva off, losing his patience with listening to her try and tell _him _how _he_ was.

"I told you — it is hard to kick your ass when _I _am in the hospital, and _you_ are not."

"Well I don't _need_ you to kick my ass, so why don't you just go back to the hospital like a good girl before you hurt yourself." He was _really_ pushing it now. Injured or not, Ziva still would have been able to kick his ass from here to Italy and back, even if he had been _sober_.

"Stop being a jerk," Ziva snapped, the last of her patience waning away completely. _Now_ she was mad. "You think you are the first person to shoot someone you care about? I have done it before, it _happens_, the best thing you can do is get over it and move on."

"Well gee, we can't all be the heartless, emotionless little solider Daddy David raised now can we?"

And right there Tony knew he had gone too far. Ziva's face hardened, her entire expression turning stony, and for a moment Tony was actually lucid enough to fear for his life.

"You know what? Fine. If you want to be this way, do not let me stop you."

He wanted to stop her. As she turned, as she stormed out, slamming the door behind her, he could feel himself literally _fighting_ to keep from calling after her. It was better that she walk away. Better that she think he was an ass.

If she wasn't going to hate him for shooting her, she should at least hate him for being a terrible person.

* * *

><p>Gibbs wasn't really surprised when he received a phone call, nearly an hour after Ziva disappeared from her hospital room, from the woman herself, asking if he could pick her up from Tony's apartment. He did, however, have to wonder what had happened — it was blatantly obvious that Ziva was fighting tears (and not so successfully) the entire time he was on the phone with her.<p>

He drove a little faster than usual to get to her. And that was saying something.

Ziva was sitting on the curb outside of Tony's apartment when Gibbs finally pulled up. Her jaw was pulled tight, and she was blinking a little more than usual in an attempt to keep the tears in check, one hand holding her injured side.

Gibbs sighed as he climbed out of the car, going to kneel next to the woman. She didn't look at him, even when he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"What the hell?" He asked after a moment. It was all he could think to say. Ziva shrugged a bit.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Of course it did. Gibbs shook his head and moved to stand, taking Ziva's hand and pulling her up with him; a soft hiss of pain slipped past her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "Yeah, you look like you should be out of the hospital," Gibbs said as he pushed her gently towards the car.

"I am fine—"

"It's called denial, Ziver." Something she was constantly in. Ziva didn't say anything as she climbed into the car, settling down against the seat and closing her eyes again. Gibbs didn't say anything as he crossed around to the passenger's side and climbed in, starting the car and pulling out into the street.

"My apartment—"

"Not where we're going," Gibbs interrupted before Ziva could point out that he was going in the wrong direction. Ziva rolled her eyes, but put up no resistance. She knew that was an argument she was going to lose.

They spent the ride to Gibbs' house in silence.

Gibbs retreated into his basement when they got to his house. After a moment of thought Ziva followed, assuming that was what she was supposed to do. Gibbs set to work on his latest project, while Ziva simply settled on the stairs, one hand still holding her side.

Silence fell.

_"What are you doing here, Ray?" Ziva muttered as she slid down on her pillow, staring determinedly out the window. She heard the chair squeak as he sat down._

_"Thought I'd come to visit." Ziva didn't answer. "I know I'm not who you want to see."_

_"Then why are you here?" No need to question who it was he _thought_ she wanted to see._

_"I wanted to see you."_

_"I have been here for three days. It took you this long to want to come and see me?" Ziva shot back, a bit sarcastically. She wasn't in the mood for Ray. She wouldn't lie; part of her missed him. A lot. She missed what they'd had. She wasn't an idiot; she'd known he was CIA, known it was in his job description to lie. But it had been so different when that whole thing had been a whole world away from them._

_"I knew you did not want to see me," Ray replied simply, not at all put off by her cold attitude. "You have been too busy worrying about DiNozzo."_

_"You sound like a twelve-year-old," Ziva snapped as she turned back to Ray, her eyes flashing a bit. "Do not try to make me feel guilty about the fact that I am _worried_ about my partner."_

_"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I'm just pointing out a fact."_

_They were silent for a few moments, until Ziva realized something. Gibbs and McGee and Abby and Ducky were all hesitant to tell her what it was that had Tony acting so weird._

_But Ray wouldn't be._

_"What is going on?" She asked after a moment. "No one will tell me if something happened in that warehouse, but clearly something did, and I think I deserve to know what has been happening."_

_She was a bit surprised when Ray actually hesitated. "I…don't think it's my place to tell you. That's really more for your partner—"_

_"Well my _partner_ is not here. You are."_

_Again, Ray hesitated. But Ziva could already tell she was going to get what she wanted. "Things were…confusing, in the warehouse," he said after a moment. "Mind you I wasn't there, this is all what I've heard second-hand. There was a lot of gunplay, everything got confusing…" Ziva waited impatiently for him to get to the point. "DiNozzo fired off a shot, it ricocheted…and hit you."_

_And just like that, everything fell into place. Tony's strange behavior, everyone's reluctance to give her the full story of how she'd been hurt…_

_"Wait, is _that_ why Tony avoiding me?"_

_Ray shrugged. "I can only assume. He requested some time off and from what I can tell he has been locked in his apartment ever since doing god knows what…" Ray's voice drifted off as Ziva began unhooking herself from the IVs she was still attached to. "Wait, what are you doing?"_

_And here she thought he was smart. "What does it look like?"_

_"Well it _looks_ like you're trying to get out of bed, but I'm fairly certain that the doctor hasn't—"_

_"Doctors and I do not usually see eye-to-eye on my physical status," Ziva interrupted as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as she strained her side. Three days of refusing painkillers was definitely going to catch up to her with this little escapade. Ray moved quickly to catch her when she put weight on her legs, and they gave out._

_"Ziva come on—"_

_"Look, you can either help, or you can leave me alone," Ziva snapped as she detached herself from Ray, moving slowly to grab the bag that Abby had brought the other day. She wasn't sure how she was going to get to Tony's — she had no money on her, Gibbs would sooner knock her out and drag her back to bed, and even _she_ had to admit that she wasn't exactly capable of walking the admittedly far distance to Tony's apartment._

_She huffed as Ray rested a hand on her shoulder, effectively stopping her. "_What_, Ray?"_

_It took him a moment to speak. "I'll drive you," he finally said, and Ziva actually turned to look at him, surprised alight in her eyes. After a moment her expression softened, and she almost smiled._

_"Thank you."_

Ziva jumped, jerking out of her thoughts, as Gibbs sat down next to her. She didn't realize, until Gibbs swept a finger over her damp cheeks, that she'd been crying.

"_Damn it_," she swore quietly as swiped impatiently at her cheeks. Why the hell was she crying? So stupid…

Gibbs waited until she'd calmed down a bit to speak. "Do I need to kick DiNozzo's ass?" Ziva almost smiled.

"No, it is fine. I knew what I was getting into when I went over there." Gibbs bit his tongue to keep from asking why she'd gone over if she knew what she was going to get. He'd probably have his answer soon anyways. "He is being so _stupid_," Ziva said suddenly, fiercely. She straightened up, the smallest of winces escaping through her angry façade. "I know he feels guilty, but _honestly_, it could have been so much worse than it is. At least I am alive. He did not kill me. And it was an accident." Her expression took on a slightly distance look as her eyes drifted over the basement, her mind carrying her to a different time and place. "He was not _trying_ to shoot me. It could have been worse."

Somehow, Gibbs' eyes were drawn to the spot on his basement floor; the spot he'd kneeled next to for two days, slaved over in an attempt to clean away the blood that would forever stain the hands of the young Israeli woman he'd barely known, but somehow he'd still felt guilty for what he'd put her through.

"Don't do that to yourself, Ziver." Ziva blinked a couple of times, forcing herself to look back at Gibbs.

"Do what?" She mumbled, knowing full-well what Gibbs was talking about, but choosing to play dumb anyways. It was better than possibly exploring what was going on in the twisted recesses of her mind.

"Well first of all, don't play stupid. You know what I mean." Ziva sighed, resting her hands against the side of her head and breathing deeply. She had a headache.

"Gibbs have I really changed?" The question surprised the man a little. He wasn't completely sure what she meant. "It has been a long time since…_that_ day. Am I really any different than I was when I put a bullet in my brother's head?"

"Of course." Gibbs didn't hesitate to answer. It wasn't always obvious, but the Ziva he had met five years ago and the Ziva sitting on the steps of his basement today were definitely two different people. "Why? What's on your mind?"

"Nothing. Just…something Tony said."

"Oh?" Now Gibbs was intrigued. Tony didn't usually say anything that was too thought-provoking. What could he have said that had Ziva thinking so deeply?

"Yes…I mean, no. It was nothing. Forget I said anything."

Well that was kind of hard. Gibbs made a face, but Ziva didn't seem too interested in saying anything more.

This had gone far enough.

* * *

><p>It was just after nine p.m. Tony sighed as he leaned back on his couch, staring at the ceiling, twisting a beer bottle in his hands. There were too many thoughts going through his head. It was painful.<p>

Guilt over his earlier argument with Ziva had long since settled in, adding itself to the guilt over everything else that had happened the last couple of days. How many things could one man feel guilty for, exactly?

The sound of knuckles against wood snapped Tony out of his thoughts, and after a moment of thought he pushed himself up. At this point, he'd take whatever punishment he got.

He'd barely opened the door when a firm fist connected with his face.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Poor Tony, he's having such a bad day. Oh well. Things are going to start getting better for him, I promise. After they get a little worse, of course…you know me *evil laughter* Review please! — Sam


	5. Making It Right

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Five<strong>_

Tony stumbled back, barely managing to catch himself before the force of the punch brought him to his knees. It was a close call.

"Ow…" He groaned as he straightened up, rubbing his jaw and forcing himself to focus on the clearly irate man standing in the hall. "Boss?"

Gibbs just stared at Tony, who had absolutely no clue what to say. He was tempted to ask what he had done to deserve that punch, but he had a feeling his earlier conflict with a certain Israeli-American had something to do with it.

"…Would you like to come in?" Tony finally asked, unable to think of anything else to say. To anyone else it would have sounded strange, him inviting in the man that had tried to punch him out (and Tony had a feeling the only reason he hadn't succeeded was because he hadn't been trying).

"If you wouldn't mind."

The words were mild enough, but the tone left no room for argument — Tony knew if he refused, he'd be taking another hit. And the next one probably _would_ have him laid out drooling on the floor.

"So…" Tony said conversationally as he closed the door, well aware that he was now in a small, confined space with his pissed off boss. Probably not good. "Why'd ya punch me?"

Gibbs didn't answer; he was too busy casting his eyes around the apartment, taking in the empty beer and liquor bottles that scattered the tables — some had even ended up the floor. And maybe it was because he was more sober now than he'd been in about three days, but suddenly Tony was very self-conscious about the appearance of his apartment.

"Tryin' to drink yourself to death, DiNozzo?" Tony winced. That was probably what it looked like…

"Does it matter?"

"It won't fix anything. And neither will being cruel to your partner, for the record." And so they'd come to the heart of the matter. "What the hell did you say to her earlier?"

Tony tried to figure out the best way to answer that. He knew, without a doubt, that Gibbs would murder him if he knew the exact details of the conversation, especially that last bit. "A lot of really stupid stuff," he finally settled for saying. It was the truth after all.

"Well if ya know it was stupid, why haven't you gotten off your ass and tried to fix it?" Gibbs asked impatiently, and Tony actually had an answer for this.

"Because if she doesn't hate me for nearly killing her, she should at least me for being an ass."

This seemed to stump Gibbs a bit. He blinked, raising an eyebrow at his senior agent, and after a moment he shook his head. "You really want her to hate you?"

"She _should_ hate me—"

"But do you _want_ her to?" Gibbs was back to being impatient. And Tony stopped to think. Did he _want_ Ziva to hate him? God no. If the rest of the world turned against him, that'd be just fine, as long as Ziva was still on his side, he'd be able to handle it.

He didn't want her to hate him. That had been one of the many things that had sucked about believing she was dead for a month — believing she'd died hating him. She'd died never knowing what she really meant to him. How important she was.

"No," he finally admitted, grudgingly.

"Then why are you trying so damn hard to make her?" Before Tony had a chance to answer, he was being slapped upside the head. "You have two choices, DiNozzo. Fix this, or next time I see you I kick your ass. Understand?"

It was a very real threat. _Never mess with one of Gibbs' girls_, Tony thought dryly. He would have smiled, if it hadn't been such a grossly inappropriate time for that kind of facial expression.

Understood, boss."

That might have been a lie.

* * *

><p>It was probably a bad omen that Tony got exactly two hours of sleep before the nightmares became too much, and he was forced to wake up again, his throat raw from screaming, his stomach turning unpleasantly, and he could only be happy now that he had stopped drinking after his argument with Ziva the day before.<p>

He stumbled out of bed, groping blindly into the bathroom. He didn't bother turning on the light (he didn't need to see his reflection to know he looked like hell), simply turned on the water and splashed the cold liquid over his face, trying to ignore how badly he was trembling.

How the hell was he supposed to face Ziva when he still had these images in his head?

_Get over it_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gibbs spoke up in the back of Tony's head. _Make this right_.

He'd said a lot of terrible things to Ziva the day before. She'd only been trying to help, after all. She hadn't deserved his misplaced anger.

It took Tony awhile to pull himself together enough to drive to Gibbs' house. The sun had long since risen, and Tony knew by this time that Gibbs would have left. He and Ziva would have plenty of privacy.

That may or may not have been a bad thing.

All was quiet in Gibbs' house when Tony stepped into the front hall. He kept his ears peeled, waiting for the tell-tale _click_ of the safety on a gun being clicked off. Ziva wouldn't appreciate the intrusion…

"It is not nice to break into someone's house when they are not home."

Tony just about flew out his skin. She _would_ sneak up on him, he reflected wildly as he whirled around, his heart flying, and found her standing in the kitchen door. No — correction. She was _leaning_ against the doorframe, one hand over her side. Her face was paler than Tony was used to seeing; it was worrisome.

"Are you—"

"I swear, if you ask if I am all right, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

Tony took an automatic step back, holding his hands up in defeat. "Been hearing that a lot, I take it?"

"Ducky was here last night. He felt the need to ask me about _twenty_ times if I was okay. And I counted — it was _actually_ twenty times."

"Well…he's worried," Tony said, feeling an automatic need to defend their rightfully concerned friend. "I mean…you were just shot. And then you just decide to pull the great hospital break and discharge yourself like, three days later. I'd be worried too." He paused for a moment before adding, quietly, "I _am_ worried."

"Well you do not have to be." Okay, so…she was pissed. Tony had been expecting that.

"Ziva, I'm—"

"Don't you have a job?" Ziva asked, effectively cutting off his apology. "It is after ten, you know, you should be at work."

"You sound like a truant officer," Tony shot back before he could stop himself. He bit his tongue, cursing. Starting an argument was _not_what he'd come here for. "Look, can we not do this—?"

"Sure. We do not have to do 'this.' You can leave."

Oh yeah. She was pissed. Tony winced, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, ignoring the lump that was threatening to form in his throat. "What I said yesterday, all of it. You know I didn't mean it, I was—"

"Drunk?" Ziva finished the sentence with overtones of bitterness ringing in her voice. "You know they say when you are drunk it only magnifies what you are really thinking in your head."

Tony winced. Okay, he'd walked in to that one. "I was mad, Ziva—"

"Why? Exactly _what_ did I do to you?"

Nothing. And that was the problem. In the end, she really hadn't done anything. "You didn't deserve what I said to you." He hadn't expected his words to have any effect. He was right. "I was being stupid. I didn't mean it. I know…I know you're not heartless. I know you're not the daughter your father raised. I was being an ass. You didn't deserve that." The look he got in return was less than understanding. He was going to have to do better than this. "I…these last few days have just been…hell," he finally settled for saying. "You getting shot, finding out I was the one who…" His voice wavered, and he closed his eyes for a moment, pulling in a deep breath before he continued. "Maybe _friendly fire_ is common in Mossad's world, but it isn't in mine. I've never shot my partner before. I…reacted badly. Really badly. And I took it out on you. And you just…didn't deserve it. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Ziva stared at Tony for a long time, her expression completely unreadable. Finally she pushed herself off the doorframe, moving past Tony. Somehow, he could tell she wasn't walking away from him — she wanted him to follow.

So he did.

He didn't say anything when he saw they were going down into the basement, but curiosity was burning in his mind. Why were they going down there? Was she trying to make it so no one could hear him scream when she killed him?

She stopped walking when they got into the middle of the basement. Tony stood behind her, watching her with a raised eyebrow. What was she doing?

"Look down, Tony." An odd request. But Tony would have done just about anything at that point to get an explanation for Ziva's weird behavior. So he looked down, focusing on the floor. If he looked closely enough, he could _just_ see the faint outline of a stain of some kind. "Do you know what happened here?"

"Uh…Gibbs spilled his coffee?" Tony guessed, smiling weakly. He knew, when Ziva responded, that she wasn't returning his smile.

"This is the spot where Ari died." Tony stiffened a bit, his smile fading. "Or, if you want to be technical, this is the place where Ari was standing when I shot him." Tony's mouth just about hit the floor at this. He gaped a little, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, unable to think of words. The only thing in his head was denials: _No, you didn't, Gibbs killed Ari, Gibbs _said_ he killed, the _report_ says Gibbs killed Ari_…

And then Ziva's words from the day before rang in his head, loud and clear.

_"You think you are the first person to shoot someone you care about?"_

Oh god.

"Why?" He asked after a moment. It was the only thing he could think to say.

"Because it was either Ari died or Gibbs died."

Tony bit his tongue on his next words — _you killed your brother for a man you barely knew?_ —instead moving on to the next thing in his head. "I…I…" Oh yeah. He didn't have anything else in his head.

And finally Ziva turned to look at Tony. Her eyes were haunted, though her expression was otherwise stony. "We have all done things we regret. The question is whether or not we allow the resulting guilt of the actions to tear us apart inside."

Tony didn't have an answer to that. He didn't know what he could possibly say.

_"Well gee, we can't all be the heartless, emotionless little solider Daddy David raised now can we?"_

He really _was_ an ass. "I'm sorry—"

"I did not tell you this because I wanted an apology," Ziva cut Tony off harshly. "I told you because you needed to snap out of whatever this _plunk_ is that you are in—"

"Funk," Tony corrected automatically.

"And get over all this self-loathing. What happened, happened. It could have been so much worse than it was." Tony's mind automatically flashed to his dreams, where he watched Ziva bleed out under his hands, die.

Okay, so she was right. It _could_ have been worse. But wasn't the fact that it had happened at all bad enough?

A thin hand came to a rest over Tony's cheek, and he jerked back to reality, blinking rapidly, trying to fight back the moisture that had accumulated behind his eyes. And somehow, someway, he found himself flashing back to the bathroom, well over a year earlier now — closer to two, really — when they'd found themselves in much the same position — trying to find their way back to one another after everything had come down around their ears.

Tony blew out a loud, shaky breath from between his lips, clenching his fists for a moment before stepping forward, wrapping his arms around Ziva and hugging her tightly. It took her a moment to react; finally she managed to bring one arm up, bracing it against his back as he tried so hard not to fall apart with her in his grip.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice trembling violently. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ziva didn't tell him off for apologizing. She could tell he needed it. So she let him hold her, let his grip tighten every now and then as he fought back a sob, let him mumble his apologies again and again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so…so sorry."

"I know," Ziva said quietly, rubbing her hand gently along his back. "I know."

* * *

><p>Tony was nervous. To say the least. It had taken a bit of convincing on Ziva's part to talk Tony into going to work — and even more convincing to get him to take her with him. She really didn't <em>care<em> if _technically_ she was supposed to be in the hospital. Because she _wasn't _there. So what did it matter?

It turned out to be Tony's incredibly bad luck that Abby just _happened_ to be in the bullpen at the exact moment that they walked in. "_Tony_!" The woman in question shrieked, and in the time it took to blink she'd thrown herself at the man, holding him tightly.

"Oof!" Tony groaned as Abby collided with him, knocking the wind out of him. "Hi Abby…"

"You _jerk_!" Abby squeaked suddenly, pulling away and punching him. "Do you have any idea how worried we were, how could you do that to us?"

"I…I…uh…look, Abby," Tony said quickly, stepping aside. "Ziva."

Tony silently congratulated himself as Abby squealed in delight, throwing herself at Ziva and wrapping her arms around the woman's neck. He felt bad when he saw Ziva wince as Abby aggravated the still very recent bullet wound.

"Sorry," Abby said quickly, pulling away. "It's just when McGee and I went to your hospital room and you weren't there it freaked me out, we thought something had happened, then Gibbs said you flew the coop and you were just at his place and you were fine, but it was still kind of scary, and I'm just so glad you're okay…"

Tony lost track of what was being said as the elevator dinged, and EJ stepped out, Cade and Levin behind her. She froze when she saw Tony, her face morphing into an unreadable expression. Ziva's own expression settled into one of confusion and unease as she looked between the blonde agent and her partner. Clearly something had happened.

A solid hand connected with the back of Tony's head, effectively jerking him back to reality. "About damn time DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly, shooting his senior agent a glare. "And Ziva—"

"I know, I know, you told me to stay home. But I did not. Is it really worth arguing over?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Good old Ziva. She was nothing if not predictable. "Sit down," he finally ordered, shaking his head. "You look like crap."

"Thank you, Gibbs, that is just what ever woman wants to hear," Ziva said with a dry smile as she made her way slowly towards her desk. Tony shifted his eyes to watch her move, taking in the slight hesitancy of her steps and making a mental note to shove painkillers down her stubborn throat sometime in the near future. He knew she hadn't taken anything since she'd woken up.

"Tony." The man turned in question turned to look at his blonde girlfriend, who was still watching him. "Do you have a minute?"

Did he have a minute? He shifted his gaze to Ziva, then back to EJ. "Yeah, sure. Come on." He moved past EJ, heading towards the elevator and hitting the call button, trying very hard to ignore the multiple stares he could feel on his back.

He didn't turn until they were safe in the elevator, and he could flip the emergency switch. "I'm sorry," he said before EJ could speak. "You didn't deserve me yelling at you, that wasn't right. I'm really sorry."

"I'm not looking for an apology," EJ said quietly. "I'm just glad you finally got off your ass and got out of that apartment. Wallowing in self-pity isn't good for you, you know."

"Yeah," Tony mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I know."

EJ sighed, leaning against the metal wall and crossing her arms over her chest. "I _do_ want to talk to you though. Without sarcasm, if you don't mind."

"I don't," Tony said quietly, though he knew it had been a rhetorical statement. "What do you want to talk about?"

A raised eyebrow was the response to his question. It didn't really take a genius to figure out what she wanted to say. A lot had happened the last couple of days.

"You know I think I've done a pretty good job of not asking too much about your personal life," she said after a moment. "This thing we have, it's casual. I get that. I don't really have a right to ask a thousand and one questions about all the women you've ever dated. And honestly, I don't really care. But I like you, Tony, and with everything that's happened, I think I have a right to ask this — what's your relationship with Ziva?"

That question was going to be his undoing. How was he supposed to answer that? He could pull a Ziva and say she was like a sister. But the lie felt weak, and Tony really didn't have the energy for it. "We…had a thing," he finally said. The truth was really the only thing that could work anymore. "A few years back, Gibbs retired for a bit. While he was gone we…"

"Took advantage of his absence," EJ finished the statement dryly.

"Yeah…pretty much. It stopped when he came back." Well, that wasn't exactly true. It stopped before Gibbs made the decision to come back, ended by Ziva for reasons she'd refused to give. Tony had been hurt; he'd thought things had been all right. What had gone wrong? But then Gibbs had come back, and things had gotten deeper with Jeanne…

"It didn't mean anything. She's just my partner."

"Right." EJ didn't sound too convinced. Tony sighed, dragging another hand through his hair. He didn't know what to say to convince her, didn't really think he should have to try. Didn't she know she could trust him? "I really _do_ like you, Tony…"

"But you don't think this is going to work out." Tony would have laughed at the irony — how many times had _he_ said those exact words to a woman? — but he wasn't in much of a laughing mood.

"I think Ziva is more important to you than you realize. And until you come to terms with that, I don't think you're really in any position to be trying to have a relationship with anybody."

She was right, Tony realized as EJ reached past him, flipping the emergency switch and sending the elevator back up to the bullpen. And it _sucked_ that she was right. How the hell was he supposed to _come to terms_ with how he felt about Ziva? How he felt just didn't matter. It couldn't. If Gibbs was mad about Tony dating someone on a team they were working with, he'd blow a gasket if Tony even _thought_ about Ziva has anything more than a partner.

It'd be the end of the DiNozzo line.

The elevator dinged open, and Tony could only watched as EJ stepped out of the metal box, heading towards where her team was standing. There was a slight pang of regret. He _did_ like EJ — really he did. She was easy to be around, easy to understand.

But didn't that take the fun out of it?

Ziva looked up as Tony walked past her desk. Questions and concern were warring for dominance in her eyes, and Tony wondered how he was supposed to respond to any of that. She shouldn't have even been worried about him.

He wasn't worth it.

"Are you okay?" She finally asked as Tony took his seat. He wasn't sure how to answer that. No he wasn't _freakin_' okay. He was angry and he was upset and he would have given anything in the world to be allowed to just _disappear_ for a couple of hours.

But this was Ziva talking to him. Ziva who had already suffered enough because of him. Ziva who didn't need his "mental problems."

This was Ziva.

"I'm all right."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>To anyone who thinks this seems like an ending...it's not. I haven't even _started _to torture these guys yet, believe it or not XD Plus I mean, still gotta get rid of Ray, right? So review please! Comments are always appreciated! ~Sam


	6. The Good Doctor

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Six<strong>_

Psychological. Evaluation.

They were, without a doubt, the two worst words in any human language.

Tony had been admittedly unhappy when he found out he had go through psych evals. But it was mandatory, and it was the only way he was getting cleared for duty. So he agreed without much grumbling.

Ziva, on the other hand, was downright _livid_ when Gibbs informed _she_ would have to do a psych eval as well. "_Why_?" She demanded angrily. She despised psych evaluations. The one she'd gone through earlier in the year with Dr. Cranston was still at the forefront of her mind. And before that, when she'd come back from Somalia, she'd gone through so many evals there hadn't been any part of her brain left unpicked.

Those weren't experiences she was looking to repeat.

"Orders," Gibbs replied simply. He didn't really think a psych evaluation was exactly necessary for Ziva. But the order was coming from Vance, and Gibbs wasn't really in the mood to argue with his boss. Ziva could do that, if she was really against the idea.

Needless to say, Ziva was _not_ happy when she walked into Dr. Larson's office. "Agent David," the woman greeted Ziva warmly, shaking her hand and gesturing for her to take a seat.

"How long is this going to take?" Ziva asked, a bit huffily, as she sat down, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She was annoyed. She _really_ didn't want to be here.

"As long as it takes," Dr. Larson replied patiently. "I know you're eager to be out of here, I read your file, I know about your past evaluations. You don't have a very high opinion on psychology, do you?"

"It is just a waste of time," Ziva said, though she really didn't feel the need to defend herself. So what if she didn't like psychology? "There are better things I could be doing right now."

"Such as? Last time I checked _you _aren't even supposed to be out of the hospital. You discharged yourself against doctor's orders. Why did you do that?"

"I do not like hospitals." Ziva paused before adding, "perhaps I have a deep-rooted fear of them because my mother died in one when I was twelve, yes?"

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Well my mother did die in a hospital when I was twelve," Ziva admitted, shifting her eyes to the wall for a moment before looking back at the doctor. "But that is not why I do not like them."

"Then why?"

Ziva huffed, back to being impatient. Did it _matter_ why she didn't like hospitals? "I thought we were here to talk about the fact that I was shot."

"Well _you're_ the one that brought up the fact that you don't like hospitals." Ziva cursed silently. Damn doctor had her there. "But if you want to talk about the fact that you were shot, we can do that too."

"There is nothing to _talk_ about," Ziva replied fiercely. "I was shot. It is not the first time and in this line of work, it will not be the last."

"It's the first time you were shot by your partner."

Ziva opened her mouth to respond…then closed it again. Then opened it. Then closed it one more time. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that? "My partner…did not shoot me," she finally settled for saying, and the words sounded crazy, even in her ears.

"The bullet was from Agent DiNozzo's gun, wasn't it?"

"By saying my partner shot me, you make it sound as if he aimed a gun _at me_ and pulled the trigger with the intention of the bullet hitting _me_. It was a gunfight, my partner fired a shot at the suspect, missed, and the bullet ricocheted, _accidentally_ hitting me. There is a difference."

Dr. Larson made a note on her clipboard, and Ziva scowled. This was the part she hated most about psychological evaluations. She wanted to know what the doctor was writing. "You think that distinction is important?"

"I think Tony — _Agent DiNozzo_ — is putting a lot of unwarranted blame on himself, and he does not need you doing the same. It was an accident. I do not blame him. Can I go now?"

Another note on the clipboard. "You and Agent DiNozzo have been through a lot these last couple of years, haven't you?"

"I do not know what you mean," Ziva replied automatically, her voice stiff. She didn't like where this was going.

"Well he shot someone in your apartment a couple years back, didn't he?"

Two years last week. But who was counting. "I have already _had_ a psych eval about this," Ziva snapped, her voice coming out harsher than she had intended. "When I first joined NCIS, I am sure it says something about it in that pretty little _file _you have on me."

"Oh it does," Dr. Larson promised, holding up the file for Ziva to see; it was a surprisingly thick manila envelope. She'd noticed that Dr. Brackham had taken a _lot_ of notes during the evaluations she'd gone through when she'd come back from Somalia. But wow…there was a _lot_ there. "You defended Agent DiNozzo and his actions quite fiercely."

"He was not wrong in what he did."

"Didn't you _leave_ NCIS because of it originally, though?"

"This is _not_ about what happened two years ago!" Suddenly Ziva was standing, but she had no memory of the action and damn it her side felt like it was on fire…

Dr. Larson remained patient. "You're right. I'm sorry. As you said, you've already gone through the evaluation for all of this. Why don't you sit down? I won't bring it up again." Ziva did as she was told, one hand drifting to her injured side. The doctor didn't miss the action. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine." That wasn't strictly true. She was shaking, though more out of anger than anything, and her side definitely hurt. But it wasn't important. She just wanted to get this over with and get out of there as quickly as possible.

"You and Agent DiNozzo are close, aren't you?" Ziva didn't hesitate to nod. Normally she would have been inclined to lie, but this was a confidential setting, and anyways it was _true_. She happened to know he'd blown off a date with EJ once just to make sure _she_ — Ziva — was okay. If that wasn't a testament to their strange relationship, Ziva didn't know what was.

"We are partners."

"And you're completely okay with the fact that — no matter how accidental it was — he shot you?"

"Of course I am." _Now_ Ziva was starting to get irritated. "It was an accident. And it could have been so much worse than it was. I am alive, I am well. There is nothing that Tony can be blamed for."

Another note on the clipboard. Ziva sighed, leaning back in her seat, her stiff posture never relaxing and wondered how much longer this was going to take.

* * *

><p>"Agent DiNozzo."<p>

Tony sighed as he shook Dr. Shea's hand. He could think of a thousand and one things he'd rather be doing at that moment. Ranking at number one was stabbing his eyes out with ice picks. A close number two involved a knife and his little DiNozzos.

"Why don't you take a seat and we'll get started," the doctor suggested kindly, gesturing towards the chair tucked away in the corner. Tony did as he was told, throwing himself into the seat and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands out in front of him. "Tell me what happened that night."

"I'm sure you've read the report. You don't really need me to tell you."

"I'd like to hear it out of your mouth."

Tony sighed, moving his hands to run them through his hair. Stupid doctors… "We've been tracking a serial killer for the last couple of months, we narrowed his location down to a warehouse in the port district so we went there, we split up. Ziva — Agent David — and I were together in the basement when the suspect opened fire. I fired a shot and missed, the bullet ricocheted and…and hit Agent David instead of the suspect."

Dr. Shea made a note on the clipboard, and Tony scowled a bit. This was the part he hated most about psych evals — the damn clipboards, the notes he never got to see. What did this woman think of the man who shot his partner? "You feel guilty about it." It wasn't a question.

"Well _gee_, where the hell did ya ever get _that_ idea?"

She answered despite the obvious sarcasm in the doctor's voice. "Well there's the fact that you punched a wall — repeatedly." She gestured at cast still wrapped around his arm. "And the fact that you took the next three weeks off from work and disappeared for a little while."

"Only a couple of days. My boss took off to Mexico for three months once. I never even left my apartment."

Another note on the stupid clipboard. "Why do you think you feel guilty?"

Tony's mouth fell open. What kind of dumb-ass question was that? "I _shot_ my _partner_. My god, is everyone _stupid_, how hard is that concept to grasp?"

"Did you purposefully shoot her?"

It took Tony a moment to respond to that. "I…what? What do you mean?"

"I mean did you aim your gun at your partner and shoot with the intentions of hurting her?"

"I…no! Of course not!" What kind of sick question was _that_? "I'd never _intentionally_ hurt her, but that doesn't make it any better!"

"I didn't say it did," Dr. Shea replied patiently. "But there's a difference between shooting someone and a bullet accidentally hitting someone. I don't think you're quite acknowledging that." Tony didn't have much of an answer. "I understand feeling guilty, your partner is clearly very important to you. From what I've read of your file you would do almost anything to protect her, wouldn't you?"

Ray's words from _that_ day rang in his head, echoing in his ears.

_"You were responsible for protecting her…She's not as strong as she likes to think…She needs someone to protect her whether she wants to admit it or not. "_

It was true. He hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, but it was really true. Ziva _was _strong, she was the strongest person Tony had ever met. But Tony had seen her at her most fragile, knew that even _she_ had her breaking points. He was supposed to be protecting her.

He'd failed.

"What do you want me to say?" He asked, his voice shaking. "Yeah, I'd do anything for her, she's my partner. We've been working together for five years, she's important to me. Of _course_ I'd do anything for her. And yeah I feel _guilty_ — no matter how nicely you sugarcoat it, it all comes down to I _shot her_. I shot my partner. She's more important to me than anything, and I almost killed her. What do you want me to say?"

Crap. Where had _those_ words come from? _She's more important to me than anything_. He hadn't meant to say that. "I mean I…um…I…" Dr. Shea waited patiently while Tony tried to figure out exactly what he _had_ meant. "Can we not talk about this?" Tony finally asked, impatient, as he came to the realization that there was just no way for him to explain what he had said.

"You're not one for talking about how you feel, are you?" Tony shook his head stiffly, grinding his teeth together. "Is that because you don't like other people knowing what's going on in your head, or because you can't even explain to yourself how you feel?"

"I know exactly how I _feel_!" Tony snapped, losing his patience a bit more. "I _shot_ my partner, I feel _guilty_! How would you feel in my position?"

"I'd be worried if you _didn't_ feel guilty," Dr. Shea said as she made another note on her stupid, stupid clipboard. "The question is how much of that guilt is misplaced. It _was_ an accident, Tony. I'm sure Agent David doesn't blame you—"

"Of course she doesn't _blame me_," Tony muttered, his voice twisting angrily around the words. "She doesn't _blame me_, she'd never _blame me_."

"And why's that?" Dr. Shea sounded curious now. Tony wasn't completely sure how to answer that.

"Because Ziva is…she's…" It took him a moment to finally settle for saying what he had shouted at EJ in a drunken stupor. "Because she's got the most twisted mind of anyone I've ever met. She'd blame herself before she blamed anyone for anything. I love her, I really do, but…c'mon, have you ever met Ziva? She's just…twisted."

"I see." Another note, and Tony sighed, wondering if he could go yet. "Do you think Agent David blames herself for what happened last week?"

Tony's face fell; he'd never thought of that. "I…don't know," he said after a minute. "Knowing her, probably. We haven't, um…"

"Haven't talked about it?" Dr. Shea guessed, and Tony nodded slowly. "Do you think if you talked maybe you'd feel less guilty about it?"

"This isn't about me," Tony replied fiercely. "_She's_ the one that's hurt, this about _her_, not me and my mental problems."

"That's not necessarily true." God was this woman annoying. "I'm not saying the fact that Agent David was hurt isn't important, because it certainly is. But what's going on in your head is just as important as her physical injuries. And I'm sure she would agree."

"Oh so am I. There's this thing about Ziva…she doesn't give a damn about herself. Maybe no one filled you in, but she discharged herself from the hospital because she found out I'd barricaded myself in my apartment and wasn't talking to anyone. She did that three days after she got shot. She doesn't care about herself or her own safety."

"Sounds like that kind of annoys you."

"Kind of? _Kind of_? She's absolutely insane, it drives me crazy!"

"Well I can certainly see why that would get on your nerves…" Tony really wanted to rip that clipboard out of the woman's hands and toss it out the window.

"Yeah, well…can I go now?" Clearly they weren't getting anywhere. And Tony was getting tired of this.

"Well you could…but I'd definitely require you to come back again." That was no surprise.

"You're not clearing me for duty, are you?"

"Do you think you _should _be cleared for duty?"

Did he? Well that was an easy answer: no. He'd screwed up — badly. He'd shot his partner. No matter what anyone said, that was really all it came down to. He'd had one job in that warehouse — he was supposed to protect her — and not only had he failed, _he_ had been the reason she was hurt. No he didn't think he should be cleared for field duty. He was in no position to be watching _anyone's_ six, much less Ziva's.

He couldn't be trusted.

"Why don't we meet tomorrow at the same time? See if maybe we can work out what's going on in your head."

That sounded like a scary idea. But Tony nodded anyways, standing. He was just glad to be allowed out of the room.

Ziva was sitting at her desk when Tony entered the bullpen. She shot him a quick smile with an accompanied eye-roll, and Tony could tell that _her_ eval, at least, had gone well. "Good doctor cleared you, then?" He asked as he sat down, leaning back in his seat.

"Of course. That was a waste of time, I do not know why Vance and Gibbs felt the need to even make me go. What about you?"

"Uh…well…I have to go back tomorrow."

Ziva's amused, slightly annoyed expression turned to one of shock. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it just as quickly as pain flitted across her face, and she grimaced, leaning in slightly as her hand moved to her side. "What's wrong?" Tony asked quickly, standing halfway. She used her free hand to wave Tony off.

"Nothing, nothing." When Tony clearly wasn't satisfied by that answer, "I stood too quickly earlier, I think I might have pulled something. It is fine, really. Now why do you have to go back tomorrow?"

"I dunno, the doc thinks I'm psychotic or something," Tony shrugged hurriedly, less interested in talking about himself. "What do you mean you stood too fast? Are you okay?"

"_I_ am fine. I am not the one who has to go for a second psych evaluation."

_"What's going on in your head is just as important as her physical injuries."_

Huh. How ironic was it that they had come back to what Tony and Dr. Shea had been talking about not ten minutes earlier.

Gibbs walked into the bullpen before Tony could answer, sipping his coffee and looking between his agents. "Verdict?"

"Cleared."

"Have to go back tomorrow."

Neither answer surprised Gibbs. He sipped his coffee, heading towards his desk. Ziva shot Tony an unreadable look before returning her attention to the computer screen. Tony tried to focus on his own work, only to find that his attention kept drifting to Ziva, to the winces that kept escaping her careful façade, the way her hand never really left her side.

Thankfully, Gibbs noticed too.

"All right, Ziver?"

"Never better," Ziva replied lightly, but Tony heard the strain in her voice. And if Tony heard it, Gibbs _certainly_ heard it. But he didn't call her on it.

Ziva sighed as Gibbs — thankfully — left her alone. Her side hurt more than she was letting on, and she was pretty sure she was running a fever, not that she'd let anyone get close enough to check. The last thing she needed was someone trying to cart her back off to the hospital. But if someone had offered her some painkillers, she might not have said no. The truth was, she'd been in quite a bit of pain since the night before, not that she'd ever admit it to anyone else. So she simply took a deep breath and tried to block out the pain, ignoring the looks she was getting from Tony, Gibbs, and now McGee, who had resurfaced from Abby's lab to do some paperwork.

_They keep looking at me like I am going to break in two_, Ziva grumbled silently as she saved what she was working on and starting to stand, eager to get away from the stares for a few moments. It took everything she had in her not to cry out as a sharp pain shot through her side. Her fingers tightened around her side as her free hand grabbed her desk to keep her from doubling over.

"Ziva?"

Tony's voice sounded as if it was coming through a long tunnel. Ziva sucked in a deep breath, swallowing hard and pressing her lips together. It _hurt_…

"McGee, call Ducky," Gibbs ordered as he stood up, closing the space between himself and Ziva in two long steps and putting his hands on his shoulders to steady her.

"I am fine," Ziva mumbled through clenched teeth. Suddenly Tony appeared in front of her, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"She's burning up," he reported, concern echoing in his voice. Ziva scowled a bit as she yanked away from Tony's touch.

"Ducky's on his way up," McGee said as he walked over to Ziva's desk as well. Gibbs leaned in a bit so he could speak into Ziva's ear.

"All right Ziva, time to start being honest," he ordered quietly. "How long have you been in pain?"

She half-considered lying, but clearly it wasn't going to do much good. "A couple of days," she admitted, pulling in another deep breath before continuing. "It started getting worse last night, though."

She started to say more, but a white hot pain shot through her side, and this time she couldn't stop the pained sound that slipped through her lips, couldn't keep her knees from going out from beneath her; Gibbs barely managed to catch her before she hit the floor.

"Easy Ziver," the man mumbled as he lowered her to the ground, cradling her in his arms. She heard the elevator ding, and the sound of Ducky's Scottish brogue reached her ears, but it all turned to noise as blackness overcame her vision.

It was a relief when the blissful blanket of unconsciousness came down to take her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I mean…come on, you guys didn't really think I wasn't going to do anything else with that whole 'getting shot' thing, did you? Anyways…review, please? I have very low self-esteem, the reviews are always a nice little ego boost. Heh… ~Sam


	7. Making A Deal

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Seven<strong>_

Hospitals. Tony was really freakin' sick of hospitals.

It really wasn't a surprise, he supposed. She'd discharged herself from the hospital three _freakin'_ _days_ after getting herself shot. It was inevitable that _something _would get infected. Even more inevitable that she would be so stupidly stubborn as to not admit to the pain she was in. Of _course_ she wouldn't admit she was in pain, or that she was feeling sick. Why would she _ever_ admit to weakness? That was just crazy.

Tony might have been a little bit bitter about this entire thing.

Ziva was asleep now, hooked up to more IVs than Tony really cared to count. She'd woken up earlier, a few minutes after she'd been brought in, had tried valiantly to get talk the doctor into letting her go. She _really_ did not like hospitals. But the doctors fought her down, and Gibbs threatened to kick her ass to Israel and back, and eventually exhaustion just got the better of her, and she slipped back into sleep.

And now Tony was sitting next to her bedside, one hand wrapped tightly around hers, guilt eating away at him with renewed vigor.

_The only reason she discharged herself in the first place was because I was being an ass. This is because of me. This is my fault_.

Part of Tony knew that wasn't _strictly_ true. Ziva really did hate hospitals. She'd have found a way out one way or another. Tony's stubbornness had just given her a more concrete excuse to leave.

But Tony's conscience just wouldn't leave him alone. If he hadn't been so self-centered, so guilt-ridden, if he had just gotten over himself…if, if, if.

A sharp slap to the back of the head jerked Tony out of his stupor. "Stop blaming yourself," Gibbs ordered, and Tony knew better than to question how his boss had known.

"Why didn't we make her go back to the hospital when she discharged herself?"

"I'm sorry; I thought we were talking about Ziva David. I must be in the wrong room," Gibbs remarked sarcastically. "None of us were going to _make_ her do anything she didn't want to."

He wasn't wrong. Tony _knew_ he wasn't wrong. But still…

"She's gonna be okay."

Tony knew that too. Really he did.

The knowledge just wasn't doing anything to placate the guilt.

* * *

><p>Ziva was a bit annoyed, when she woke up, to find herself back in the hospital. Not that she was surprised. After the scene she'd caused at NCIS, it was only natural that they would cart her ass back to the hospital. But jeez…<p>

"It really is interesting."

Ziva jerked her head sideways, a little surprised to see Ray standing in the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. She followed his gaze to the man slumped over in the chair next to her bed; Tony was fast asleep, his head resting on the bed, one hand wrapped around Ziva's.

"I get the feeling your relationship with him is a lot more complicated than you ever let on."

Ziva closed her eyes for a moment. She was tired, she was woozy from the drugs she knew they had her on, and this really wasn't a conversation she felt like having. It was so, so tempting to tell him off. She didn't really owe him an explanation after all.

Except she kind of did.

"What was I supposed to tell you?" She muttered as she opened her eyes again. "That my coworker, the man I spend every day with and entrust my life to, was also an ex-lover? How well would you have taken that?"

"It would have been the truth."

Ziva huffed; she'd known that was coming. "Fine, I lied to you. I lied to you, you lied to me. We are even."

"I'm not here because I'm trying to get even," Ray replied quietly. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. I _do_ care about you, you know."

"I know." Ziva was surprised to find that the words were true. And that was the part that sucked the most.

"You just don't feel the same way."

"I want to." She felt as if she was pleading with him, now. Trying to make him understand. "You have no idea how much easier it would make my life if I could just…if I could…"

"Make me what Agent DiNozzo is to you."

The words weren't said unkindly, but it still felt like a slap to Ziva's face. Because that was really what it was, in the end. She _did_ want to make him what Tony was. And that wasn't fair. To anyone.

"I am sorry."

It was all she could think to say. She _was_ sorry. Sorry she had led him on. Sorry she'd flown off the handle with him because really, she'd just been looking for an excuse to end this whole too-good-to-be-true ordeal. Sorry she had met him in the first place because really, didn't she just ruin everything she touched? It wasn't Ray's fault he'd gotten sucked into the black vortex that was her life.

"Didn't you tell me there was some rule against apologizing?"

Ziva smile weakly. Ray had looked at her like she was crazy when he'd tried to apologize for cutting their ski trip short, and she'd told him that apologizing was against the rules. It had started this whole discussion about Gibbs' rules, most of which Ray hadn't been able to even _begin_ to understand. But Ziva had been amused.

After a long moment Ray made his way into the room, going around to the Tony-free side of Ziva's bed and leaning in, pressing his lips lightly to her forehead. Ziva closed her eyes, ignoring the tears burning behind her eyelids.

Ray murmured something that Ziva didn't quite hear, and then he was gone, and Ziva found herself staring at the ceiling, trying very hard to ignore the damned tears.

"Ziva? Ziva?"

She hadn't realized she was actually crying until Tony's panicked voice cut through her stupor, and suddenly the man was in her field of vision, worry clear in his expression. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"I am fine, Tony," Ziva mumbled quickly, dragging a hand across her eyes and cheeks.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Tony wasn't convinced. Ziva didn't cry over _nothing_. But it was clear she wasn't talking, so he let it go, not in the mood for a serious discussion. "How are you feeling?" He said instead. As if that was a better discussion to have. Ziva took a minute to consider this question.

"They drugged me," she finally muttered. Tony could hear the disdain in her voice. "I cannot tell how I am feeling."

"Sorry," Tony said with a small smile. "You were in pain, they just wanted to help."

Ziva mumbled something in Hebrew. Tony didn't _quite_ understand what she said, but he'd heard it enough to know it was some kind of curse, and his smile tightened a little. "I'm sorry," he said again. It was all he could think to say. He _was_ sorry. Sorry he'd shot her. Sorry any of this had happened.

"Never apologize; it is a sign of weakness." Tony chuckled weakly. "How long was I out for?" Ziva asked finally, shifting her eyes to the window. The sun was up, but that didn't really mean much.

"Um…not too long." Ziva raised an eyebrow, and Tony sighed. "You were kind of in and out of consciousness for the better part of the night, but I'm guessing you don't remember that." Ziva shook her head. "It's just after ten a.m. now."

The last time Ziva had looked at a clock, it had been almost noon. "I must have been quite a sight," she mumbled as she squeezed her eyes shut, sighing. "Passing out in the middle of the bullpen like that."

"I don't think anyone's thinking about it too much. They're more worried about you."

"What about you?"

The question confused Tony more than a little. "Well…yeah, I'm worried about you too—"

But Ziva shook her head, looking a bit frustrated. "I _meant_ how are you doing?"

Tony ignored the way his stomach turned at the question. Hearing those words — hearing Ziva worried about _him_ — shouldn't have made him feel so sick. "I'm fine, but that's not important—"

"Of course it is," Ziva cut him off at once, the frustration in her expression becoming more pronounced. "Aren't you supposed to go back to the office shrink today?"

Again, Tony tried to wave her off. "I can reschedule, it's not that big of a deal. It's more important for me to be here—"

"_Tony_!" Ziva groaned, letting her head fall back on her pillow. "First of all, I do not want to be a guilty obligation, if you are just here because you blame yourself, it is not worth it. Second, you need to take better care of yourself—"

Tony's mouth fell open, and he snorted. "Ex_cuse_ me? Did the woman who discharged herself out of the hospital three days after getting shot and then landed herself back _in_ the hospital a couple days later because she got an infection and refused to admit she was in pain just tell me _I_ have to take care of myself?"

"That is not the point—"

"It is entirely the point!"

Ziva opened her mouth to respond, and then closed it just as quickly, the anger draining from her face. "Tony I do not want to argue," she mumbled after a moment, sounding wearier than Tony could ever remember hearing. "You are worried about me, and I am worried about you, it is not really something that is worth fighting over, is it?"

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was right. Of _course_ she was right. It was a hard to find a time she _wasn't_ right. "How about a deal?" He muttered after a moment, raising his eyes to meet Ziva's rightfully bewildered gaze. "I'll…go and play nice with the office shrink if you promise not to try and pull an amazing hospital break before the doctor says you're good to go. Sound fair?"

Ziva considered this for a moment. She would probably go nuts waiting for the doctors to give her a clean bill of health. But if it got Tony to work out what was going on in his head…

"Deal."

* * *

><p><em>Tick…Tick…Tick<em>…

God, whose idea was ticking clocks? They were so annoying…

"You ever considered investing in a digital clock? That ticking's really gotta get on your nerves after a while."

Dr. Shea smiled softly. "You're not the first to suggest that. Personally I like the clock I have now. People seemed more inclined to talk with that clock, if for no other reason than to block out the ticking."

"That's diabolic," Tony snorted. "Not too different from Ziva though, she likes to ambush me when I'm in the bathroom, thinks it makes me talk to her just to cover up the sound."

"Does it?"

Tony considered this for a moment. "I…don't know," He admitted finally. "Maybe? She's pretty persistent, even if she didn't get me in the bathroom; she'd get me somewhere else."

"While we're on the subject of Agent David, I hear she's back in the hospital." Tony sighed, his small, almost smile fading.

"Yeah…the idiot. She discharged herself from the hospital before the doctor cleared her, now she's freakin' sick again…"

A note went on the clipboard, and Tony scowled, just a little. "Sounds like you're mad at her."

"What? No!" Tony said quickly, straightening up. "I mean, what's there to be mad about? It's my fault. I'd barricaded myself in my apartment, I wasn't talking to anybody. Ziva found out and got herself out of the hospital so she could kick my ass and get me stop feeling sorry for myself."

"It sounds like she's as much to blame for that one," Dr. Shea pointed out. Tony made a face; he was well aware that Ziva had made the decision on her own to leave the hospital, but _still_…

"If it wasn't for me acting the way I was, she never would have left the hospital in the first place." That may not have been strictly true. Not that the doctor needed to know as much. Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. His head was starting to hurt…

"Are you _looking_ for reasons to blame yourself?" Dr. Shea sounded slightly intrigued now. Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was really starting to hate psychology…

"No, that's just the way it is. Anyone will tell you the same thing."

"Really? So if I were to ask, say, Agent David…"

"Okay, not _everyone_," Tony corrected, frustrated. "Most people, though. They may not say it exactly the same way, but in the end it comes down to that it'd pretty much be my fault, no matter how they tried to sugarcoat it."

"Have you asked a lot of people, lately?"

Tony was really starting to regret the stupid _deal_ he'd made with Ziva earlier. If it wasn't for the fact that she probably would have checked herself out of the hospital tomorrow, he would have stood up and left at that moment.

Tony wasn't exactly surprised when the hour was up and he still wasn't cleared for field duty. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that kept asking if he really _wanted_ to go back onto the field. If he could be trusted. He'd already shot an innocent person once.

Who was to say it wouldn't happen again?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Oh Tony…you and your poor, misplaced guilt. But on the upside, we've finally resolved the EJ-and-Ray problem — Ray will not be coming back, and EJ goes bye-bye permanently at the beginning of chapter 9. So, silver lining. Also, while we're here, who wants a shameless plug? I've been working on this story for the past couple of weeks (and when I say "working" I mean "obsessing" — I've spent every waking moment on it, _Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking_ has suffered great neglect), and I really like the idea for it. Details:

_**Title: **__Half A World Away**  
>Rating: <strong>__T**  
>Summary: <strong>__—AU, Tiva—It's 2001. Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David are starting their lives together. In the aftermath of 9/11, Tony enlists in the army, and the young lovers find themselves in two different worlds. Will they survive the greatest obstacle fate has to offer?_

If you think it sounds interesting, either leave a comment in a review or go to my profile and vote in the poll. But review this too! Updates shouldn't be hindered too much for the moment, I've got up to chapter twelve written — and right now, that's the end. But it could very easily keep going. That will be up to the readers (and me, kind of). Anyways, review please! — Sam


	8. Tought Love

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Eight<strong>_

Ziva behaved. She stayed in the hospital, complaining it about it to everyone who stayed in her room for more than twenty seconds; she didn't try to escape or threaten the doctors with bodily harm — though a nurse did come very close to meeting her end when she tried to change an IV while Ziva had been sleeping. Ziva claimed self-defense; the nurse was traumatized. But other than that one little incident, Ziva behaved.

Tony didn't.

He cancelled three therapy appointments, claiming work overload was preventing him from taking the thirty-second trip down the stairs to the psych people. He didn't tell Ziva, was careful to stay away from the hospital during his appointment times so she wouldn't know the difference. When asked how he was doing, he put on a fake, cheesy grin that even the dumbest person wouldn't fall for and said he was fine.

Not that Tony believed Ziva was dumb. She probably saw right through the smile. But she didn't take the time to push it, for whatever reason.

Tony was grateful.

A series of knocks snapped Tony out of his stupor. He looked away from the movie he had been staring at for the past hour, unable to process what was going on. He didn't really care. He just needed the noise.

"All right, all right," he mumbled as he stood up, shuffling towards the door. He was surprised, but not really, when he opened the door and found Ziva standing in the hall. "Uh…hello."

"Hi."

"…Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

"I was discharged today."

Tony's mouth just about hit the floor. "You…you were discharged? Wait, why didn't you tell me, I would have picked you up—"

"Well telling you I was being discharged would have defeated the purpose of ambushing you and catching you skipping your therapy appointment, yes?"

Oh. Tony looked quickly at his watch. Yeah, it was therapy time, wasn't it? "Um…um…"

Ziva raised an eyebrow before slipping into the apartment. Tony sighed as he closed the door, turning to face the woman. She wasn't mad. Or at least she didn't _look_ mad. It was kind of creepy, how mad she _wasn't_. Tony had been expecting fury and yelling and possibly flames.

"How…how do you feel?" Tony asked after a minute, watching Ziva walk around his living room. She was so _calm_. It was unnerving.

"Medicated. The doctor has me on painkillers, I'm supposed to take one every couple of hours." Tony noted her use of the words _supposed to_. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Cleared for field duty yet?"

Tony blew out a long breath from between pressed lips. "No." Not that she needed him to say it. She already knew he hadn't been cleared yet. "Does that really matter though?"

"Not if you want to spend the rest of your life on desk duty."

"Maybe that's where I belong."

For the first time, Ziva's calm façade faded, just for a moment, revealing a mixture of shock and anger behind the mask. "You do _not_ belong behind a desk," she informed him coolly, and damn it all, Tony swore he could hear a bit of hurt in her voice. _Hurt_?

"Maybe I do." Not something he ever thought he'd be saying about himself. "Maybe I don't belong on the field. Maybe I should just be pushing pencils for the rest of my life."

Ziva sighed as she forced her mask back into place. After a moment she raised a hand, slapping Tony upside the head, and he jumped. "Hey!"

"Stop being an idiot," Ziva ordered calmly. "You know as well as I do that you do not belong behind a desk."

"So instead you want to put a gun in my hands?" Tony asked, clenching his fists. "You want to make it easier for me to hurt _another_ person who doesn't deserve it? Maybe next time it'll be McGee, or Gibbs, or hell, maybe even an innocent bystander…"

Ziva waited patiently for Tony to finish his rant. Eventually he ran out of words, was reduced to simply walking in circles as he tried furiously to figure out what he was trying to say. "It was _one_ mistake, Tony," she said quietly when she was sure he was done. "You have been in law enforcement since you got out of college, and this is the _first_ mistake you made. It is no reason to end your entire career."

"Yeah, easy for you to say, you've never made a mistake," Tony shot back bitterly. Ziva tilted her head, an unreadable look lighting up in her eyes.

"Would you feel better if I told I have?"

"Ari doesn't count—"

"Not Ari," Ziva cut Tony off. "But that is not the point. The point is you cannot let _one_ mistake change your entire life. I know you are upset, and this will take a while to get over. But you _will_. You should not let how you are feeling now decide whether or not you change careers. You are not as dangerous as you seem to think, Tony. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will be able to get over this."

Tony didn't have an answer to that.

* * *

><p><em>"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva," he muttered over and over, his hands pressed against the bullet hole in the woman's side. Blood poured out of the wound, covering her shirt, his hands. "I'm sorry, please don't die, I'm so sorry…" He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood, cringing away when Ziva coughed roughly, bringing up blood. "Ziva…"<em>

_"Tony," she managed to mumble as she raised a hand, covering his red fingers. Whatever she was going to say was cut off by another cough, and her eyes fluttered shut, her entire body shuddering._

_"No, Ziva! ZIVA—!"_

_"NO_!"

Tony's eyes flew open, a strangled sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a shout escaping his lips. It took him a moment to focus on the woman sitting next to him. It was dark. When had it gotten dark?

"Ziva?"

Because that was the only person it _could_ be, really. But Tony had to be sure. Had to know for sure that Ziva _hadn't_ bled out under his hands due to a bad shot on _his_ part. The light on the side table clicked on, bathing the two in light and illuminating Ziva's worried features.

"This is a change," Tony said with a crooked smile as he straightened up, inching away from Ziva's touch. "Usually _I'm_ the one waking _you_ up."

"Guess you have more to dream about than I do," Ziva said quietly as she leaned back, worry still clear in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Never better." He was a liar and Ziva knew it. She huffed, a bit impatiently, as she crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a small, half-hearted glare. "Oh don't give me that look. You _never_ talk to me about your nightmares."

"There are more differences between your nightmares and mine than I can even begin to count," Ziva shot back, looking annoyed now. "And this is not about me, it is about you."

They stared at each other for a long time, neither backing down, neither willing to give up. And Tony, god help him, wanted nothing more than to just wrap his arms around Ziva, hold her, reinforce the fact that she was indeed alive. She was _alive_.

Tony was immensely surprised when Ziva sighed, giving in and closing her eyes. He was even more surprised when she leaned in, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Something of his desire must have shown in his expression, he realized as he wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the warmth of her small, living body.

They sat like this for a long time. Tony wouldn't deny that he was grateful Ziva didn't try to pull away. He'd also never admit it.

"Tell me about it," Ziva whispered after a moment, and Tony sighed, tightening his grip and burying his face in her hair.

"You were…bleeding. You'd been shot. _I _had shot you. You were dying…and no one else was there. You were just bleeding. I couldn't stop it. You were _dying_…and I couldn't save you." A shudder ran through his body, and he tightened his grip to the point where he was sure he was hurting her, but he didn't care and she didn't say anything.

"I am not dead," she said quietly, her voice even; if Tony had seen her face, he would have seen that there were tears welling in her eyes. "I am not going anywhere. I promise. If a…a psychotic terrorist could not kill me in the nearly four months I was held prisoner, then I highly doubt there is much _you_ can do to hurt me."

It was a bad joke, and they both knew it, but Tony couldn't help but laugh weakly. "These things come in threes, ya know," he said, running a hand through her tangled hair.

"I know. I was blown up, I was held hostage in a prison camp for three months, and I was shot. That is three, yes?"

"Yeah. Yeah it is."

They sat in silence for a while longer, still wrapped in each other's arms. "I don't think I can do it again," Tony said after a moment, his voice choked with tears. "I can't stand even the _idea_ of putting a gun back in my hands, all I can think about was how stupid I was, how careless that shot was, how much worse it could have been…"

"You cannot dwell on the past forever, Tony," Ziva said quietly, pulling away to look Tony in the eye. "It will not do any good to let the guilt eat you."

Tears were burning Tony's eyes, clawing away at his throat. His fingers tightened around Ziva's arms, and after a moment he drew her in again, crushing her against his chest. He didn't notice the tears were running down his cheeks until soft fingers ran themselves across his skin, wiping the tears away.

"It is going to be okay," she muttered after a moment, burying her face in her shoulder. "_You_ will be okay, Tony."

"I don't know," Tony replied quietly, his voice shaking to the point where even he could barely understand. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>"I hear Agent David is back to work."<p>

"Ahuh."

"Does that have something to do with the fact that you're actually here for this appointment?" Dr. Shea asked dryly, and Tony sighed.

"She uh…she chewed my ass out for skipping appointments. She actually walked me down here today and watched me walk inside. She's kinda hypocritical that way."

"Well at least _someone_ knows how to get you here for your appointment." Dr. Shea sounded amused now. "I'll have to thank her later."

Tony chuckled weakly. "Yeah, well…she usually gets her way. Whether I like it or not."

Dr. Shea nodded, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Have you two talked, yet? About what happened?"

Tony made a noise in the back of his throat, his own smile fading. "Oh yeah, we talked. We talked a lot, actually. She told me I was being an idiot for feeling so guilty. She thinks it's so easy, turning emotions on and off…and she doesn't blame me at all. And I mean, I knew she wouldn't. That's just the way she is. She told me to _get over it_…like it's that easy. She doesn't get it."

"Have you tried explaining it to her?"

Tony snorted in disbelief. "Like it's that easy. Ziva is…stubborn. I mean, don't get me wrong, I lo — I care about her, she's my partner. When it comes to understanding though, she's kind of lacking in that department. She sees that I feel guilty, and she just wants me to stop."

"Why do you think she wants you to stop feeling guilty?"

"Knowing her? She doesn't think she's worth the guilt." Which wouldn't have surprised Tony in the least. Ziva's view of herself had become entirely too warped since Somalia. It really made him want to scream sometimes.

The next forty minutes were spent going around in circles, trying to figure out what was going on in the mess that was Tony's head. Needless to say, they didn't get any far.

Tony's head was killing him as he left the psychologist's office. He was more than a little surprised to see a certain Israeli-American waiting for him out in the hall. She was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, gun in its holster at her side. Tony shuddered at the sight of it, forcing himself to focus on her face.

"What?"

She didn't answer, simply pushed herself off the wall and uncrossed her arms, holding a hand out to him.

"Come on."

Tony looked between Ziva's outstretched hand and her face for at least twenty seconds before taking the offering, resting his palm against hers and allowing her fingers to wrap around his hand, gently tugging him towards the elevator.

He wasn't sure where they were going. Didn't know why she was hitting the button for the ground floor, or why she continued to hold his hand even as the elevator descended downward. "Ziva, what—?"

"Shush," was Ziva's answer. Tony sighed, resigning himself to the thrill of the mystery.

The doors opened. Tony barely noticed that Ziva was still holding his hand until she tugged him out of the elevator, leading him towards the doors that would bring them outside. Neither noticed that they passed Gibbs on the way, though he certainly did a double take, looking back to see their intertwined fingers. After a minute he just shook his head before turning and heading towards the elevator. Didn't _anyone_ listen to rule twelve…?

Tony didn't realize where they were going…until the sound of gunshots reached his ears. His heart jumped into his throat.

"Ziva—" He tried to stop walking, but Ziva simply pulled him along. Tony imagined she looked like a mother struggling to pull her small child through a department store. "No, Ziva, stop, I don't want to do this—"

"Just be quiet," Ziva ordered, not unkindly. The sound of the gunshots grew louder, and Tony felt as if his limbs were turning into Jell-O. Why was she doing this to him?

They stopped just on the edge of the shooting range. It was mostly empty, save for a few people just trying to get in a bit of practice. And finally Ziva turned to Tony, fully intent on explaining. Except he didn't want to hear it now.

"I don't want to be here, I don't want to…to hear the gunshots, I don't want to _see_—"

He was starting to panic, his breathing quickly moving towards hyperventilating. Ziva sighed, raising her free hand and resting a finger against his lips, effectively silencing him, though it did little to help with the breathing issue. And she started talking.

"When I first came back from Somalia, I could not stand to be in the elevator for more than a few seconds at a time. The small space just…freaked me out, I guess. Anyways I was in the elevator one day with Gibbs, and it broke down, and so did I. Gibbs saw how scared I was. He gave me a few days to get over what had happened, then one night he dragged me into the elevator, flipped the emergency switch, and sat down with me while I had a panic attack. He did not say anything, he just let me panic. He kept me in there for over two hours, until eventually it just…did not scare me as much anymore. I knew where I was, I knew I was not going to get hurt. To get over your fears, you have to _face_ them. And that is not something you can do in a therapist's office."

Tony forced himself to breathe evenly, swallowing hard. His mouth suddenly felt dry. "Tough love, right?" His voice cracked as he spoke, and Ziva smiled, just a little.

"Tough love."

Ziva pulled her gun out the holster, and Tony winced at the sight of it. "It is not going to bite, you know," she informed him with a small smile as she turned away from him, heading towards one of the booths. "If it makes you feel better, you are just going to watch."

No. No, it really didn't. Tony leaned against the wall, crossing his arms tightly over his chest to keep from covering his ears. Not that it would have helped to block out the sound.

Ziva kept a steady hand as she fired off shots, one right after the other. "Not exactly sure why you need to practice," Tony mumbled as he watched her.

"It has been a while, I am getting…dusty."

"Rusty. And it's been, like, a week. How much _practice_ do you need?"

"As much as it takes to make you stop being afraid," Ziva replied again before firing off another shot.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So…not gonna lie, I was slightly disappointed by the response to the last chapter. Is the story _that_ bad? We're getting close to the end, if that makes any difference. Well, by "close" I mean like four chapters. But closer than we were two chapters ago.

And with that said, I've got two ideas for stories that I've been working on. One is my AU story, _Half A World Away_, which has basically taken over my entire life (seriously, I've stayed up until like three a.m. just writing it). I'm still kind of back and forth on whether or not to post this one. The other one is called _When Lightning Strikes_, which I started half just to break the hold the other story has on me. That one's still in the very rough beginning stages, it doesn't even have a summary yet. It's established Tiva (which is a new one for me), and they have a three-year-old son and they find out he's autistic. Can you see why it's hard for me to write a summary for this? Anyways…review please if you have opinions on the stories, and of course review if you have opinions about this chapter. Please? — Sam


	9. How It Works

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Nine<strong>_

It became a habit for Ziva to drag Tony down to the gun range every afternoon. Neither said much, and no one called them on the fact that they made it a habit of disappearing together an hour or two at a time. It was "a Tony-and-Ziva thing," as Abby dubbed it when she caught them leaving together one afternoon.

They certainly got some strange looks at the gun-range. Tony standing back, leaning against wall while Ziva tried to desensitize him to the sound of the gunshots. He had to give her credit; she was certainly tenacious. Every afternoon she literally had to _drag_ him to the range. She didn't let that stop her though.

EJ and Co. packed up shop. Vance was transferring them back to Rota. No one was really crying over the loss, not even Tony. He'd always known the thing with EJ was temporary. And while he was a bit sad to see her go, he couldn't say it really mattered, considering the way things had turned out between them.

"I have to ask," EJ said on her last day in the office. She'd been getting onto the elevator as Tony stepped out, very nearly running into her. "What the hell do you and David do every afternoon?"

Tony rocked back on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back. "It doesn't matter," he responded finally, eying the box in EJ's arms. "Need help with that?"

"I've got it," EJ assured him, sighing. "See you around, Tony."

"Bye…EJ."

The atmosphere in the bullpen was unsurprisingly light. Even Gibbs was obviously happy to see EJ and her team go. And Ziva — Ziva was grinning in a way Tony had never seen before. It really seemed like things were getting better.

Tony could only hope that was really the case.

Lunchtime came and went. Ziva waited for Gibbs and McGee to disappear before grabbing Tony and pulling him towards the elevator. Tony put up only a token resistance; he knew no matter what happened, Ziva would get him down to that range. Whether he liked it or not.

The range was surprisingly empty when Tony and Ziva entered. It almost felt staged. "Okay," Ziva said patiently, turning to face Tony, and he stiffened a bit. This was new. He didn't like it. She pulled her gun out of her holster and, much to Tony's horror, she held it out to him.

"I…what the hell are you doing?"

"I believe I am handing you a gun."

"Well gee, _thanks_, smart-ass. I get that. I meant _why_ are you handing me a freakin' gun?"

"Were you always this dense, or has Gibbs just slapped you too many times?" Ziva asked, a bit impatiently. Tony shook his head, taking a step back.

"No. No way. You said I was just watching, you said—"

Before Tony could react, Ziva had stepped forward, closing the space between them and grabbing Tony's arm. Tony clenched his fingers quickly, preventing her from pushing the gun against his palm, and she sighed.

"Tony—"

"No, Ziva." His heart was pounding now, blood rushing through his ears. He'd never had a panic attack before, but he was pretty sure _this_ was what it felt like. "I can't…please, don't try and make me do this, I _can't_—"

Ziva's shoulders relaxed as she lowered the gun to her side, her free hand still wrapped around Tony's wrist. She could feel his pulse beginning to race, could see that he was hyperventilating. Experience had taught her where this was going.

"You cannot spend the rest of your life being afraid," she said quietly. Tony tried to force himself to breathe evenly, pressing his lips together and swallowing hard. "We are just at the range. It is a controlled environment. The only thing are going to hit is the target." She paused for a moment before adding, with a small smile, "If you are lucky enough to hit even _that_."

Tony would have laughed, if he hadn't been trying so hard not to panic. "It is going to be okay, Tony. Really."

Tony wasn't quite sure how she got him to unravel his fingers. But the suddenly the gun was being pressed into his palm and _damn_ did it feel weird, foreign. He had to literally force himself to grip the gun so it wouldn't fall when Ziva let her own hand fall away. They both turned to look at the target waiting at the end of the range.

"Okay."

It was almost painful, taking a stance, holding the gun out. His fingers tightened to the point where it almost hurt, and god help him, he couldn't make himself pull the trigger. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he was beginning to regret the double cheeseburger he'd eaten for lunch.

"Ziva…" His voice shook dangerously. A small hand brushed across Tony's back.

"You can do it, Tony. You _can_."

He pulled the trigger.

_A single gunshot rang above all the others…she moved slowly towards him, her entire body crumpling…blood gushed from the wound, she cringed in pain as toxins spread, uninhibited, through her dwindling blood supply…_

The gun slipped from Tony's hands. He stumbled away from the booth, accidentally pushing Ziva as he moved. He wasn't completely sure where he was going until he found himself in a corner, doubling over as his lunch violently revisited him. Yeah. That cheeseburger had definitely been a bad idea.

Tony was shaking as his stomach finished emptying itself. He was vaguely aware of a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles as his entire body heaved. It took him a minute to collect enough dignity to straighten up and face the woman standing behind him. After a moment she raised her arms, wrapping them around Tony and drawing him into a light hug that Tony returned with everything he had in him.

"Sorry," she murmured after a moment, breathing deeply. Tony was surprised enough to actually pull away and stare at her, shocked.

"What are _you_ apologizing for?"

Ziva shrugged, giving him a sad smile. "I have had my share of panic attacks. I know they are not fun. Even less fun when they are forced by a person."

Tony didn't have much of an answer for that. After a moment Ziva wrapped her fingers around Tony's hand, tugging him towards the exit. They stopped long enough to tell someone to call the janitor before heading back towards NCIS.

Neither made a sound until they were in the elevator. Tony was surprised when Ziva reached over with her free hand, flipping the emergency switch and plunging them into the dim light cast by the emergency lights.

"What's up?"

Ziva shrugged, leaning back against the metal wall, her fingers still wrapped around Tony's hand. "It is nice to be able to take a moment away from prying eyes every now and again."

Well she wasn't wrong. After a moment Tony relaxed, leaning back as well. He wasn't really surprised that Ziva let silence fall; like Gibbs, she didn't use words where they weren't necessary. Tony often wondered if they had been related in a past life.

"You are shaking," Ziva said after a moment, and Tony realized he was.

"Look at that."

Ziva sighed as she closed her eyes, resting her head against Tony's shoulder. After a minute Tony slipped his fingers through hers, intertwining them. "It is going to be okay," she murmured after a moment. Tony swallowed hard, closing his eyes as well.

"I don't know, Ziva. I really don't know."

It was a long, long time before they finally pulled away from one another, and Ziva flipped the emergency switch off, allowing the elevator to shudder back to life. She imagined there were a lot of angry agents at the moment wondering which of Team Gibbs had commandeered the elevator _this_ time.

* * *

><p>Ziva sighed as the sound of knuckles against wood echoed through her apartment. She did her best not to let on around Tony, but she <em>was<em> still recovering from being shot. It tended to tire her out. And she really didn't have the patience to deal with whoever was knocking on the door.

But appearances were important. So Ziva dragged herself out of bed, grabbing her NCIS sweatshirt. She hesitated for a moment, struggling with the concept of pulling it on. She really _was_ tired if the idea of putting her sweatshirt on was too much for her to handle. She finally tossed the sweatshirt aside, heading for the door.

Tony, much to Ziva's non-surprise, was the one waiting on the other side of the door, beer in one hand, pizza in the other, DVD cases balanced on the pizza box. His hopeful expression fell when he saw how weary Ziva looked. "Oh. Um…" His eyes swept over the scars littering Ziva's arms, and suddenly she wished she'd put the stupid sweatshirt on. "Sorry. Were you sleeping?"

"No, no, it is fine," Ziva said quickly, stepping aside and allowing Tony inside. "I was just…just lying down."

"Kinda early for that, isn't it?"

Ziva pressed her lips together, smiling lightly. "I am tired," she said simply. Tony frowned, shifting his eyes to the door.

"Do you want me to go…?"

"No, do not worry. Really. What have you got for movies?"

Tony forced himself to smile; it looked more like a grimace to Ziva. "Classic comedies. Felt the need for a laugh tonight. _Young Frankenstein_, _Ghost Hunters, The Seven Year Itch_…"

As Tony rattled off movie titles, Ziva led him into the kitchen, taking the beer and putting it on the counter. "One minute," she said as Tony went to grab the plates. She moved quickly to her bedroom, grabbing the sweatshirt she'd originally discarded and yanking it on.

They settled down on the couch as the opening credits of the movie appeared on screen. Ziva honestly didn't know what movie he had chosen, or what it was about. She picked at the vegetables atop her pizza, not really interested in eating; she'd eaten before she'd gone to lie down.

Eventually Tony realized that Ziva's attention wasn't on the movie; he hit pause with a sigh, turning to look at her. "Do you want me to go?"

Ziva's head snapped up, and she turned quickly to look at him. "What? No, of course not—"

"You're not really into this." It wasn't a question. Ziva sighed as she straightened up, setting her plate down and rubbing her eyes.

"I told you it is okay, Tony. You worry too much sometimes."

Tony's eyes swept over Ziva, drifting over her arms. "Why'd you put the sweatshirt on?" He asked after a minute. Ziva tried to pass off a cringe as a tolerant smile.

"It is cold."

"It's like eighty degrees outside."

Oh. Right. Before Ziva could come up with a response, Tony grabbed her right wrist, carefully pulling it towards him and slipping the sleeve back, his thumb running over the marred, pale skin. Ziva did her best not to wince as she looked away; almost two years later, she could still remember receiving every single cut that had led to these scars.

"Are you really going to torture yourself with this?" She asked after a moment without looking back at him.

"I just don't get how you can _never_ talk about it and be okay."

"The past is the past." Ziva carefully twisted her writs out of Tony's grip, shaking the sleeve back down. "If you can get over it on your own, then there is no reason to talk about it."

Tony tilted his head, a vaguely curious look flitting across his face. "Do you ever _want_ to talk about it?"

Ziva thought about this for a minute. _Did_ she ever want to talk about it? Did she ever want to talk about the unbearably hot days and freezing cold nights spent in that cement grave, curled up the floor, just _waiting_ for death to take her? Did she ever want to talk about the tiny underground room that she'd dubbed "the box," where they had shoved her when she was what they considered to be particularly unhelpful? Did she ever want to talk about the whips, the knives, the glass bottles that had been hurled at her head with frightening accuracy whenever Saleem was in a bad mood? Did she ever want to talk about being reduced to a living sex toy, forced down and pinned to the ground by heavy bodies, violated over and over while they asked why "the Jewish whore" couldn't be better?

It frightened her that she kind of did. Because she knew the second she came clean about everything, Tony would never look at her the same.

Tony watched, worried, as the color slowly drained from Ziva's face. He cursed himself; god, couldn't he keep his mouth shut? "Ziva." He tried desperately to recapture her attention as a glassy look overcame her eyes. He'd seen that look before. "Ziva, come on, hey. Look at me." He rested his hand over her cheek, relief flooding through him when she started to blink, forcing herself to focus on Tony. "Sorry," he muttered, hating himself more and more. Ziva shook her head, raising a hand to rest it against the one still covering her cheek.

"It is good to be reminded every now and then where one came from."

Tony didn't quite understand that. He wasn't sure he wanted to. So instead he just reached out, one arm going around Ziva's shoulders, pulling her against his chest. She didn't resist; her head came to a rest against his shoulder, and she closed her eyes, her deep, even breathing washing over his collarbone. After a moment he readjusted himself so he was leaning back on the couch, Ziva half in his lap. Both of his arms were tight around her body, one hand playing through her dark tangles.

"How do you do it?" He asked after a minute.

"Do what?"

"Block it all out. Forget what happened. Remember how to breathe."

Ziva shifted a bit, swallowing before she answered. "Years of practice," she said finally. Tony made a face.

"Anything else?"

After a moment Ziva raised her head, tired mahogany eyes meeting green. "Remember that there are people who care. That even if they do not look at you the same way anymore, they will _always_ care. Remember that they always have your back, and no matter how many times you fall, they will always pick you up again."

For a strange, brief moment, Tony flashed back to the night Mike Franks died — specifically back to the elevator. He remembered Ziva's breakdown, remembered holding her as she mourned for the eccentric old man they had all loved. He remembered pulling back, gazing into her eyes, remembered how she'd tilted her head just slightly…

Tony wasn't sure how it happened but suddenly he was leaning in, and his lips were meeting hers and they were kissing, and damn it all if it wasn't the best and the most wrong thing he'd done in a long time.

They didn't pull apart until long after oxygen became necessary. And Tony, for the life of him, couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a terrific kiss. Couldn't remember the last time he'd _enjoyed_ a kiss so much.

It took him a minute to realize that the look on Ziva's face was more unreadable than he could ever remember seeing it.

"Uh…sorry."

He relaxed, just a little, when Ziva shook her head. "Never apologize. Remember?"

Tony made a noise of amusement in the back of his throat. "Right." Ziva finally smiled, closing her eyes and lowering her head back to his shoulder. She was asleep within moments, still wrapped in Tony's arms, one of his hands playing with her hair. She looked so comfortable, Tony reflected as his eyes examined her face. He didn't have the heart to move. So he reached for the remote, barely managing to grab it and turn the volume down, turning the DVD player off and settling for some black and white rerun.

At one point Ziva started fidgeting in her sleep, her formerly peaceful face taking on a disturbed look. "Sh," Tony murmured, his fingers catching in her dark tangles as he ran a hand through her hair. He'd learned the hard way in Paris that if he didn't head the nightmare off early, she would be screaming in no time. "Sh, Ziva, come on, it's okay. It's all right, your safe. You're safe."

It took surprisingly little to calm her down again; after only a few moments she relaxed, her breathing evening out again. It had always amazed Tony, when he watched Ziva sleep, how absolutely _young_ she looked. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that she was, for all intents and purposes, the youngest on the team — with everything she'd been through, she may as well have been Gibbs' age, if not older.

But she looked young now, hiding from the horrors of reality behind a veil of unconsciousness. And all Tony could think about was how much he wanted to protect her. He'd always felt a bit of protectiveness for his partner, despite it being the last thing that she needed. It was a feeling that had increased ten-fold when Ziva had returned from Somalia; the need to protect her, to make her smile every chance he got, had been almost overwhelming. And it hadn't gone away as time had gone on. He just wanted to protect her — he _needed_ to protect her.

So how had he almost killed her?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Angst and fluff all in one chapter. Not quite sure how I managed that, lol. Anyways, review please? Three chapters left — Sam


	10. Hypocrite

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Ten<strong>_

It was really kind of annoying, the fact that the woman who had been _shot_ was cleared for field duty before Tony. But when the order came down from Gibbs to grab their gear, Tony stayed grudgingly behind his desk while Ziva grabbed her bag, pausing for a moment too long to stare at Tony before hurrying after McGee and Gibbs.

It really kind of sucked. Tony knew, deep down, that he wasn't cut out for a desk job. But the idea of holding a gun in his hands still kind of sickened him. And without a gun, field duty would have been too stupidly dangerous — hell, even _Ziva_, with her far too high tolerance for dangerous situations, never would have tried it.

"Hi Tony!"

He looked up, smiling a bit when he saw Abby standing on the other side of the bullpen wall, grinning at him. "What's up, Abs?"

"Well, McGee informed me that you were up here by yourself, I figured you'd go nuts with no one but yourself to talk to." Tony rolled his eyes a bit before returning his attention to his computer.

"Tell McWorrywart he doesn't have to assign me a babysitter every time everyone leaves."

"McWorrywart. Not one of your better nicknames."

"Yeah, doesn't roll too nicely off the tongue, does it? I'll work on it."

Abby grinned for a moment before her smile turned soft. "How are you?" She asked, hesitating a bit. She felt as if she was opening Pandora's Box.

"I'm all right Abby. Really."

The Goth woman sighed. "You sound like Ziva." Crap. He did. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised though. You guys have been spending a lot of time together lately."

Good thing she didn't know about last night. Tony never would have heard the end of it. "Yeah, well…you know…" He faltered as he realized he really didn't have anything to say. "We're partners."

"So every afternoon you and McGee disappear to places unknown too?" Okay, so she had him there. "You know, Agent Barrett is gone."

"Yeah, she is."

"Are you and her going to try the long distance thing?"

"We broke up long before she left, Abs."

"Oh." Abby paused for a moment. "You know Ziva and her boyfriend broke up…"

"Abby I'm gonna stop you right there," Tony said as Abby's voice took on a suggestive tone. "Ziva's my partner. We work together. Remember rule twelve?"

"Yeah, yeah." Abby waved Tony's words off, rolling her eyes a bit. "You two looked pretty cozy in the elevator last week considering you're _just_ partners."

"What about you and McGee?" Tony shot back, aggravated. "Couldn't help but notice you were clinging to him that night, anything there?" He was shocked when Abby's face reddened, just a bit. "Oh god…_really_?"

"I-It's not what you think!" Abby squeaked, her face burning red now. "The night M…Mike died, McGee said it didn't seem like a good idea for anyone to be alone, so we went back to his apartment. I was just going to sleep on the couch, but then I lied down and started crying, and I went into McGee's room, and he let me lie down with him, and next thing I knew it was morning. Then the next night I went to his apartment again because I was afraid to be alone and…I don't know, it just went on from there."

Tony's mouth was practically on the floor now. "Oh. Well then. Good for you and McGee. I'm happy for you both."

Abby's face couldn't have been any more red if she had tried. "Look, t-that's not the point. The point is, you and Ziva are finally in the same place at the same time, rule twelve be damned I think it's time you make something of yourselves."

Tony sighed as he leaned back in his seat. That was just the problem — they _weren't_ in the same place. Ziva had a twisted mind. He could only imagine what _she_ thought of everything that had happened between them since she'd been shot.

"Okay, so now you're probably making a whole list of excuses about why now isn't the right time." She was good. "You can't keep making excuses forever, you know. If you actually _want_ be to with Ziva, you're going to have to make it happen."

Abby waited for a moment. When Tony didn't see anything, she walked away, shaking her head just a bit.

* * *

><p>"Sure is quiet without Tony around, huh?"<p>

…

"Ziva?"

…

_Whap!_

Ziva jumped a mile as Gibbs slapped her upside the head. "Still with us, David?" He asked as Ziva turned to look at him, blinking a bit. She looked dazed.

"Yes…sorry. I just…um…" She waved a hand, trying to figure out the word she was looking for. "Drifted off. Drifted, yes?"

"You got it," McGee spoke up as Gibbs walked away. "So how are you doing?"

"I am fine, obviously. I have been cleared for field duty, haven't I?"

McGee smiled just a bit, shaking his head. "I meant how are things going with you and Tony?"

"There _is_ no me and Tony, McGee. There is me. And then there is Tony. Not much more to say about it past that." She had to keep telling herself that it was nothing. That Tony's attentiveness, his actions, were all a result of the guilt he still obviously felt. She had to tell herself that _this_ — whatever it was — was going to end. Because there was just no other option.

"You two have been spending a lot of time together lately."

"Since when have you taken it upon yourself to monitor who I spend my time with, McGee?"

Ziva had to give the man credit; he didn't instantly get defensive. But that was what was great about McGee, she supposed. He hardly ever took offense to things. "Just want you to be happy, Ziva. That's what you came here for, isn't it?"

A small smile pulled at Ziva's lips. "When did you get so wise, McGee?"

The young man shrugged, smiling as well. They returned to work in silence, Ziva snapping photos and McGee helping Ducky, who had just arrived, process the body.

It really _was_ quiet without Tony around, Ziva reflected as she worked, feeling as if she was on auto-pilot. It didn't seem right without Tony, making his movie references, being his usual, obnoxious self. Ziva was surprised to find that she missed it.

It had been so comfortable the night before, falling asleep in Tony's arms. She didn't want to think about it too much, didn't want to ruin everything that had happened. But she knew eventually this was going to end. Tony would, whether he believed it or not, _would_ eventually move on from the overwhelming guilt. He would find another EJ, or maybe even another — Ziva cringed at the thought — _Jeanne_. He would move on.

This entire thing would be in the past. Where it belonged.

That hurt Ziva more than she was willing to admit.

"Where the hell is DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked as they walked into the bullpen. Tony's desk was indeed empty. McGee and Ziva exchanged looks, then shrugged. "Just because he stays behind doesn't give him license to disappear," Gibbs muttered, annoyed. McGee and Ziva set to work, the latter puzzling over the obvious absence from the bullpen. He should have already been out of therapy…so then where the heck was he?

"Tracking says he's still in the Navy Yard," McGee reported. Ziva made a face at this. Was it possible…?

"McGee, cover for me."

Ziva ran out of the bullpen before Ziva could answer.

It was a little surprising, finding Tony at the shooting range. He hadn't voluntarily gone within a hundred feet of a gun since the accident.

But now here he was. Standing in one of the booths, gun out, pointed at a target.

"Tony…?"

"These people must think I'm insane." Not exactly the answer Ziva had been expecting. But okay. "I've been standing here for like an hour. Just standing. Every time I even _think_ about pulling the trigger, I go back to that damned warehouse. I see you…bleeding…"

Tony's voice drifted off as Ziva moved closer to him, her chest pressed against his back, and her arms snaked up around him, hands coming to a rest over his own, which were still clutching the gun tightly. "You are not in the warehouse," she said quietly, her finger finding the trigger. "That's over. You are here. I am here. I am right behind you. You are not going to hurt me or anyone else. You have to trust yourself, Tony. I know that is hard — trust me, I know — but you _are_ trustworthy. And I know hearing it isn't enough to make you believe it, but I promise, it's true. You have to learn to trust yourself again. And this seems like the best way to start."

And with that, she pulled the trigger. The vibration of the shot rattled through Tony's hands, right down to the bone. He felt as if his entire body was shaken by that single shot. He could feel his lunch attempting to revisit him, but Ziva's arms were still wrapped around him from behind, keeping him rooted to the spot. Her hands felt so warm against his…

"Okay?"

No, it wasn't. Tony highly doubted it would ever _really_ be okay ever again. But his stomach was starting to settle, at least a little. That had to count for something, right?

All thoughts flew from Tony's head as he suddenly realized how close he and Ziva were. And how this must have looked to anyone walking by.

"Um…Ziva?"

She pulled away at once, understanding his hesitancy. The last thing they needed was word somehow getting back to Gibbs about their newfound — and most likely temporary — intimacy.

_Rule number twelve_.

Tony set the gun down, unwilling to tempt fate _too_ much. One shot a day was enough.

"We should probably head back to the office," he said finally.

"Right."

They headed back towards NCIS, Ziva filling Tony in on the case as they walked. No one was really surprised when they walked into the bullpen together.

* * *

><p>Tony sighed as he knocked back another glass of scotch. He'd gotten home about seven and cracked the alcohol bottle open. It was almost nine. The bottle was now more than half empty.<p>

This was why he'd ended up at Ziva's last night. Being alone was just _bad _for him.

He couldn't keep leaning on Ziva though. It wasn't fair to her for him to keep depending on her.

So he sucked it up. Went home. Started drinking.

Never a good idea.

_Knock-Knock-Knock_…

Tony pushed himself off the couch, stumbling a bit in his attempt to get to the door.

"It is an up and down thing, yes?" Ziva said before Tony had completely registered that she was standing there. So much for getting distance.

Ziva slipped into the apartment without waiting for Tony to invite her in. She grabbed the bottle off the living room table, heading into the kitchen. Tony didn't protest as he poured the liquid down the drain and started searching his cabinet. He needed this. He knew he did.

Four more bottles were found. Their contents instantly went into the sink. "Anywhere else I should look?" Ziva asked, turning back to Tony at last. "Closet, maybe, under the bed?"

"I live alone, why the hell would I need to hide anything?" Tony asked, a bit annoyed. Ziva shrugged, heading towards Tony's bedroom. "What, do you think I'm lying?" He demanded as he followed her.

"I think people do strange things when they're drunk," Ziva replied patiently.

Tony was shocked, to say the least, when Ziva unearthed two bottles of rum in the back of the closet. At least she didn't rub it in. A quick check under the bed revealed a bottle of bourbon, of all things.

"Um…"

Ziva went back into the kitchen to dump out the rest of the alcohol. She poured a glass of water, shoving it into Tony's hands. "Drink," she ordered gently. Tony couldn't find it in himself to ignore her. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Ziva I don't need you to—"

"It certainly seems like you do," Ziva interrupted. She set to work, pulling out a pan from under the counter and filling it with water.

"Ziva—"

"I'm assuming you have pasta, that is always something you seem to be in full supply of—"

"Ziva!"

He didn't really mean to yell. But jeez, why was she ignoring him?

Ziva stopped in her attempt to track down a box of pasta. She kept her back to Tony, and after a moment she leaned against the counter, sighing heavily.

"Just shut up Tony."

There wasn't much he could say to that. So he let Ziva go back to work, watching as she poured the pasta in the boiling water, stirring slowly.

"So you are just going to drink yourself into a coma every night you are alone?" Ziva asked finally. Tony instantly, irrationally, went on the defensive.

"Gonna give me a lecture?"

"That would be hypocritical," Ziva responded simply. She was being surprisingly patient. "I will, however, say that I do not recommend it — it does not make the feelings go away."

Yeah. He had noticed as much. "Maybe you just never drank enough," he suggested after a moment. He was a bit surprised when Ziva laughed.

"I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning, if _that_ is not enough than I do not want to know what is."

Tony wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement. "I…you…wait, _what_?" He really hoped he was just drunk and had misunderstood what she had said. "Alcohol poisoning?"

Ziva purposely prolonged having to answer, putting more effort into searching for a jar of tomato sauce than thinking about what to say. "It was about a week after I moved into my new apartment," she said finally as she finally found what she was looking for. "I had been drinking since…since I came back. The night after everything with um…with the Damocles and Malachi and everything, I…drank a little more. Everything that had happened just kind of came crashing down at once.

"I do not really remember much of that night, to be honest. I remember going home and opening the alcohol, and after that everything is kind of….fizzy? Fritzy?"

"Fuzzy," Tony corrected automatically; his head spinning. He'd never heard this story before…

"Fuzzy, yes. The next thing I remember clearly is waking up in the hospital feeling absolutely sick to my stomach. I found out later that my neighbor had come over and found me passed out in the kitchen. She was an older woman, she knew I was going through some…stuff…so she'd taken it upon herself to take care of me, I guess. She found me and called an ambulance. The doctor told me when I woke up that my blood alcohol content had been point-three-five."

Tony's mouth just about hit the floor. "That…that's…"

"Just a little more and it probably would have been lethal," Ziva said, supplying the words for Tony that he couldn't quite bring himself to say. "And it did not make the memories hurt any less or disappear."

Point taken. Tony blew out a breath from between pursed lips, running a hand through his hair. "You never said anything," he said finally, his voice taking on a slightly accusing tone.

Ziva shrugged. "I already owed all of you my life. I didn't think it was fair for you to have to deal with my mental problems as well."

Damn it, why'd she have to be so nonchalant about everything? "You should have said something," Tony insisted weakly. It didn't really matter, he supposed. They were talking about things that had happened almost two years ago. It wasn't like he could change any of it now. He just felt bad. _Why_ hadn't she ever said anything?

"As I said…" She shrugged as she switched off the flames for the pasta and sauce pots. "Hope you are hungry."

That didn't answer a damn thing.

"You really _are_ hypocrite, aren't you?"

He was a bit surprised when Ziva turned around and gave him a small smile, winking. "I have never denied it."

Well…at least she was honest.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So I can't remember where, but I heard a saying somewhere once: in order to fight one's own demons, own must want to fight someone else's. Or maybe I just made that up. I don't know. But that's the premise of the next chapter because quite honestly, I was always a bit disgusted by the way the show handled Somalia. So we're reviving that next chapter, as well as bringing Tony another step closer to getting over his own problems. Two chapters left; review please! —Sam


	11. Dealing With Demons

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Eleven<strong>_

Tony wasn't surprised, when he woke up the next morning, to find that his apartment was already empty. It was after six; no doubt Ziva had gone back to her apartment to go running and then take a shower and get ready for work. Of course, that was assuming she'd stayed the night. But somehow, Tony knew that she had.

His head was still spinning from the revelations of last night — he couldn't help but wonder if Ziva had told him because she knew he was drunk, and it'd be less likely that he would remember in the morning. He wouldn't say anything to her about it, of course. That was just the way their relationship (or whatever the hell it was) worked. They talked to each other, and then the subject was dropped, never to be breached again.

It probably wasn't healthy.

* * *

><p>"Have you thought any more about whether or not you want to return to field duty?"<p>

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. Had he thought about it? Only every single moment of every single day for the past week. Had he come to a decision yet? Absolutely not.

"Nobody thinks I can survive behind a desk."

A note on the clipboard. "What about you? Do you think could do it?"

Did he think he could survive sitting behind a desk day after day after day while everyone else left him behind to investigate crime scenes and talk to witnesses and track down suspects? No way in hell. "I…don't know. I could try. I mean…I'll have to try, but if I can't pick up a gun…"

His voice drifted off, and after a moment he closed his eyes, leaning back in the chair. "I feel sick every time I so much as _look_ at a gun," he mumbled after a moment. "Ziva drags me down to the gun range every day and makes me sit there while she practices — like she freakin' _needs_ the practice — and I mean it shouldn't be so bad, all she really does is make me sit there and watch, except for that one time, but even just watching…hearing the gunshots…" A slight shudder ran up Tony's spine, and he shivered. Dr. Shea tilted her head a bit as she made a note.

"What happened that one time?" She asked after a moment, curious. Tony blew a breath out from between pursed lips.

"She forced the gun into my hand. She learned from that, she hasn't tried it since." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I…tried it on my own too. Thought maybe if she wasn't standing there watching me it'd be a bit easier, but it just…wasn't. 'Course she figured out what I was doing, she came down and…" And what? He wasn't really sure how to finish that sentence. Helped him? Made him fire the gun? He really didn't know what to say.

"You and Agent David have a very strange relationship, don't you?" Dr. Shea asked after a minute. Well that was one way of putting it. "You mention her a _lot_ during these sessions."

"Well yeah…isn't she why I'm here?"

"Technically you're here because you're working through the guilt of having shot your partner. Unless you're saying you _wouldn't _be here if it had been Agents McGee or Gibbs you shot?"

Tony winced at the thought of that. "No…I mean, yes, of course I would be here." He couldn't help but be a little insulted. Did she think he cared less about his other partner, his boss, than he did about Ziva?

"What if it _had_ been one of them? Would they be as…involved in this entire thing as Agent David has been?"

Tony almost snorted. He couldn't imagine Gibbs or McGee breaking out of the hospital to kick his ass for being an idiot, or tolerate him being a jerk the way Ziva had, and they sure as hell wouldn't have dealt with him showing up at their places just because he didn't want to be alone.

"No." In all honesty, he had a feeling it would have still been Ziva he was going to for everything, even if it had been Gibbs or McGee he had shot.

"So you would have been suffering alone." Tony pressed his lips together. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. Dr. Shea already thought his relationship with Ziva was "strange." Which wasn't a lie. But he didn't need to give her any more of a reason to believe that.

But she was waiting for an answer. "No," he finally said.

"Agent David would have helped you, right?" Damn it, she was good.

"You said it — we have a strange relationship."

Not just strange, Dr. Shea thought as she went back through her notes for a moment. If she had to give a label to the relationship between Agents DiNozzo and David, she would call it symbiotic. DiNozzo clearly depended on David, and if Dr. Shea had gotten a chance to sit down with the female agent, she had a feeling she would have found that the feeling worked both ways.

Of course, it was also clear that Tony was in utter denial about the entire thing.

* * *

><p>"Are you avoiding me?"<p>

Ziva paused with her finger on the trigger. She'd come down to the shooting range alone, mostly because she knew Tony would come looking for her no matter _where_ she was. After what she'd revealed last night, there was no chance he would be leaving her alone.

"Should I be?"

She fired another shot, imagined Tony was wincing at the sound. She felt terrible; her own dreams the night before had been plagued by the memories of Somalia. Saleem standing over her, dragging knives and jagged pieces of glass over her skin, tearing her clothes away and making her "useful…"

She just didn't have the energy today to deal with Tony's problems. And he didn't deserve to have to deal with hers. So yeah, maybe she was avoiding him, just a little.

It was for both their own goods, though.

Ziva took a moment to indulge in her rather sick fantasies, imagined that the target at the end of the booth was Saleem Ulman's face. Tony jumped a mile as she emptied her clip.

"Are…you okay?"

She set her gun down, taking a deep breath. He didn't need her mental problems, she reminded herself, closing her eyes for a moment before turning to face Tony. "I believe I am the one that should be asking _you_that."

"I'm not the one that just emptied a clip into a paper target."

Ziva didn't answer. After a moment, Tony moved so he was standing next to her. He could just make out the slight tremor running through her body, the muted fear shining in the very back of her eyes.

He knew that look; he'd seen it in her expression for _weeks_ after she'd come back. It had faded over time, reappearing every now and then for a while before it disappeared completely.

Tony couldn't imagine there were too many reasons why it was back now.

Ziva started to turn away. Tony, without really thinking, grabbed her wrist, holding her back. She flinched, almost unnoticeably, at the contact, not quite able to raise her eyes to look at Tony. And for whatever reason, Tony found himself thinking back to the night she'd fallen asleep in his arms. He remembered thinking how young she'd looked in that moment — but more to the point, he remembered the desperate need to protect her. Remembered how disgusted he had been with himself at the time because for the guy that was supposed to be protecting her, he'd done a damn good job at almost killing her.

But that didn't change the fact that she needed protecting. From the guys that came after her with guns. From the ghosts that refused to die. She deserved someone that _could_ protect her.

And as long as Tony was wrapped up in his own guilt, forcing his problems on her, he couldn't be that person.

His grip on Ziva's wrist tightened for a moment before he turned into the shooting booth, slamming the button to bring the paper target forward. He ripped Ziva's mangled target down, putting up a new one and sending it back to the other end of the booth. He grabbed Ziva's gun and released her wrist, pulling out the empty clip and loading in a new one.

He only hesitated for a moment before pulling the trigger. And then he did it again without much more thought. And again.

He didn't know if he _could_ be that person — the one that protected her. But he knew he wanted to be. And that had to count for something, right?

Ziva watched, more than a little shocked, as Tony slowly but surely steadied his shots; it only took a few moments for him to hit the middle of the target. He was shaking visibly, though he didn't seem to notice.

Finally he stopped, shaking more than ever as he set the gun down again.

"Tony?"

He turned to look at Ziva, and saw a smile pulling at her tired, haunted expression. She was still standing. She wasn't lying on the floor bleeding. She was okay. He hadn't shot her.

She was okay.

* * *

><p><em>Like clockwork<em>, Ziva thought with a small smile as she opened her front door and found Tony standing on the hall, holding a bag of take-out and a stack of movies. It wasn't likely she was going to be sleeping tonight, but she wasn't completely sure she had it in her to deal with company either.

But it was Tony. And he looked so hopeful. And she just had such a hard time saying no to him.

"Would you like to come in?"

"If you don't mind."

Ziva stepped aside, allowing Tony to shuffle past her, towards the kitchen. "I was thinking spy movies tonight. I don't I've ever really introduced you to James Bond, have I?"

"You mean other than the incessant references you make to him?"

Tony just grinned. He'd been in a much better mood that day, thrilled by his triumph at finally having been able to pick up and shoot a gun without having a panic attack. And Ziva was happy for him, she really was. She knew what it was like to finally overcome an irrational fear, how it felt to once again be capable of doing something so simple. She really was happy for him.

They sat down with their take-out containers as Tony hit play for the first movie — Ziva wasn't even completely sure what it was. She hadn't really paid attention to the title. She picked through her noodles and chicken, not really hungry, not really interested in eating. Eventually she gave up, setting the container aside and curling into the corner of the couch. If Tony noticed that she hadn't eaten, he didn't say anything.

Tony didn't really understand why Ziva kept opening the door and letting him in. He could tell, just by looking at her, that she wasn't into this — she hadn't even taken two bites of her food. If she didn't want company, she usually had no problem telling Tony to go away.

"What else haven't you told me?" Tony asked after a moment. Ziva blinked a couple of times as her mind dragged itself back to reality.

"What?"

Tony grabbed the remote, hitting pause and turning to face Ziva completely. "What you told me last night can't be the extent of what you dealt with when you came back from Somalia. What else is there that I don't know about?"

Ziva sighed, reaching for the remote with every intention of turning the movie back on. But Tony held it out of her reach, and she gave up after only a few moments. "Tony just start the movie again, this is really not something I feel like talking about—"

"You're such a hypocrite," Tony interrupted, annoyed. "You've been sitting here for the last month—" God, had it really been a month? "Preaching to me about opening up and _dealing_ with my feelings, but I'm fairly certain you've never once even tried to deal with what happened to you—"

"Almost _two years ago_," Ziva cut in pointedly. "It has been _two years_ since Somalia; there is nothing left to deal with—"

"Yeah, that's why you _still _have nightmares about it."

"Talking will not make the nightmares go away. Now will you just let it go? _Please_?"

Tony thought about this for a long, long time. "You told me last night that you ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning because you were trying to drink to forget about what happened over there. You can't tell me something like that and expect me to just _let it go_."

"I did not tell you that because I wanted you to make a big deal out of it. I told you because I was trying to make a point to get _you_ to stop drinking so much."

Tony groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You are such a damn _hypocrite_."

"I have never denied it."

They fell silent for a long time, staring at each other, neither willing to back down. "Someday you'll have to talk about it, Ziva. You know that, right?"

"There is a lot that I do not talk about," Ziva replied simply. "And I think I have gotten by all right."

And with that she stood up. "I think I am going to lie down. Feel free to stay and finish watching the movie, if you wish."

"Were you raped?"

The words slipped past Tony's lips before he was even aware of thinking them. Well, that wasn't completely true. He'd thought them _a lot_ in the last two years. More than what was healthy, he was sure. But he _had_ to know.

Ziva stopped short, her entire body tensing. It wasn't a huge jump, she knew, to assume she had probably been raped at least once. She'd been the only woman in a camp of thirty-plus men, after all. But not even the shrink she'd been forced to speak with had dared to ask such a question.

Ziva closed her eyes, trying to block out the images Tony's question had called to life.

"You can't tell me to deal with my demons if you won't even admit that yours exist."

All the air escaped Ziva in one long huff, as if someone had squeezed it out of her. When she turned to look at Tony again her face was pale but set. "I know very well that my demons exist, Tony. I'm just the only one that knows _why_. And it is going to stay that way."

"Why?"

_Why? _God, if only he knew. If he knew the things that had happened to her in Somalia…if he knew the full extent of what the torture went to…if he knew that they'd walked into her cell every single night and used her until she actually broke down and begged them to stop, and then they continued anyways…if he knew everything…

"The past is the past. I am leaving it where it belongs, and I suggest you do the same."

"It's not the past if it's still haunting you today."

And just like that, all the tension drained from Ziva's body. Her exhaustion made itself more present in her mind, and for a moment she was truly afraid that her legs were just going to give out. The last few months had been absolutely exhausting. What with the Port-to-Port Killer, and getting shot, and trying to help Tony through his guilt…and now the stupid man was trying to force her to talk about things she didn't want to talk about, revisit memories she had no interest in revisiting…

She just didn't have the energy for this. Not tonight. Not that she thought she'd ever have the energy to talk about Somalia.

"I know you want to talk, Ziva. I can see it in your eyes every time I bring Somalia up. And I don't know what's holding you back, but some day you're going to have to give in. And when you do, I hope I'm the one you come to."

Ziva stared at him for a long, long time. After a moment she collapsed onto the couch, burying her face in her hands and sighing deeply.

"Turn the movie back on, idiot."

Tony snorted as he hit play. After a moment Ziva leaned back on the couch, back in control of herself, and she curled up in the corner, sighing a bit. They sat in silence for a few, watching the images flash by on the screen.

"Finish eating," Tony said after a moment, leaning forward and grabbing the food container Ziva had previously set aside. Ziva took the container without much thought, picking through the contents with a sigh.

She'd always had a surprisingly hard time saying _no_ to him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I spent five minutes trying to come up with something witty to say. I've got nothing. I know this chapter was a little shorter than usual, but I figured it had enough angst and trauma packed into it to make up for the length. Hopefully you agree. Review please? One chapter left — Sam


	12. On The Same Level

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed__  
><em>_(I could do most anything to you...)__  
><em>_Don't you breathe__, __something happened, that I never understood__  
><em>_You can't leave__  
><em>_Every second, dripping off my fingertips__, __wage your war__  
><em>_Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die__, __well I am scared__  
><em>_In slow motion, the blast is beautiful__  
><em>_Doors slam shut__  
><em>_A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away__  
><em>_Safe and sound_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Somewhere a Clock is Ticking — Chapter Twelve<strong>_

Cleared for field duty.

Four words Tony didn't think he'd ever hear again. But he'd said goodbye to Dr. Shea for the last time and vacated the office with the signed yellow sheet in hand. He'd set the sheet on Gibbs' desk with a flourish, grinning as he went back to his own seat.

Cleared. He was cleared for field duty. He was _cleared_. He wasn't even sure how this had happened, and he didn't care. He was cleared.

It was a good day.

Until Gibbs announced that they had a body.

Tony bullied the keys for the truck away from McGee so he could drive to the crime scene. McGee was annoyed, but handed the keys over, and Ziva didn't say much of anything; she simply rolled her eyes and followed Gibbs to the elevator.

It was quite the crime scene; a female marine lieutenant had been stabbed to death in the shower. The _Psycho _references were endless.

"We should watch that once we get this case wrapped up," Tony commented as McGee slipped out of the bathroom to report to Gibbs. Ducky and Palmer had just finished loading the body onto the gurney and were gone as well. "It's a great movie, I think you'll like it."

"A psychotic madman stabbing people to death. Does not exactly sound like my cup of coffee."

"Tea." Though coffee was certainly appropriate too, given who they were working with. "It's not your cup of tea. And I think you'll like this one. Come on, it'll be fun."

Ziva considered this for a minute before rolling her eyes. "Fine. When this case is over, we will watch _Psycho_."

"Brilliant." Tony grinned. "It's a date."

Gibbs, of course, walked in right as Tony said _it's a date_. "Goin' on a date, DiNozzo?" The older man asked with a raised eyebrow, looking between his senior and probationary agents. Tony opened his mouth…then closed it again.

"Um…uh…no, boss. No dates for DiNozzo."

He shuffled out of the room quickly, and Gibbs turned to Ziva, who shrugged, smiling weakly before slipping past Gibbs, out of the bathroom. The older man shook his head. Something had definitely changed between those two.

He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

* * *

><p>"…This is stupid."<p>

Tony's mouth just about hit the floor as he turned to look at Ziva, who was staring at the TV in utter disbelief. "Okay, I _know_ you did not just call _Psycho_ stupid. There must be something wrong with my hearing, yeah, that's it…"

"No, you heard correctly the first time, this movie is utterly ridiculous."

Thankfully the ending credits chose that time to begin rolling. "You've got to be kidding me. I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, you like _musicals_, of course you have no taste when it comes to movie, but come _on_ — this is a classic!"

"Classically stupid, perhaps. And what is wrong with musicals?"

"Where do I start?"

Ziva glared at Tony for a moment before picking up her crumpled napkin and throwing it at him. He didn't even bother trying to dodge, choosing instead to just let it hit him in the head. "_Ooww_ Zee-_vah_, that hurts. I'm injured now, thanks a lot."

"Would you like a _real_ injury?"

Tony considered this for a moment, then grinned weakly. "Uh…no, I'll pass actually. Thanks though, maybe some other time."

"I will hold you to that."

Tony laughed as he gathered up the plates and trash and started into the kitchen. "Here, I'll help," Ziva started to say, standing up and grabbing the empty pizza box. Tony didn't even bother telling her not to; she would have anyways.

"You know," Tony said conversationally as they started into the kitchen, "I can't help but notice that you've been using a lot more contractions lately. I'm very proud, you've finally started to assimilate."

"Well Tony, as long as _you_ are proud of me, then I can die happy."

It was a joke and he knew it, but the word _die_ stirred something in Tony's mind. And for a moment, the images of the night in the warehouse flashed through his mind: his gun firing, Ziva lying on the ground, Ziva bleeding…and then his mind went back a little further, back to that sun-baked room in the middle of the desert, where Ziva had sat across from him with hopeless eyes, telling him she wanted to die…

"Tony?"

A small hand rested itself over Tony's cheek, dragging him back to reality. While he'd been lost in thought, Ziva had moved to stand in front Tony, her head tilted a bit, curiosity alight in her eyes. "What's wrong?" She asked quietly, concern evident in her voice. Tony blew out a long breath from between pursed lips, raising his own hand to brush his fingers across Ziva's cheek.

"I almost lost you."

Ziva sighed, closing her eyes. "Come on Tony…I thought that was behind you—"

"I'm not just talking about the shooting," Tony interrupted, though she was definitely nuts if she thought he was ever _really_ going to get over that. "I'm talking about…everything. The shooting, Somalia, you getting blown up in Russia…I'm so tired of almost losing you, Ziva."

"You are not losing me, Tony," Ziva argued gently. "I'm right here."

"If even one thing had gone wrong, you wouldn't be."

"Yes…_if_. If even one thing had gone wrong. But it did not. I'm still alive. And you need to stop dwelling in the past. If you continue to dwell on the past, then there is never going to be a future."

Tony stared at Ziva for a long time, absorbing this little tidbit. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He asked after a moment, and Ziva huffed, annoyed.

"Stop trying to turn this on me," she said at once. "This is not about me, this has never been about me. It is about _you_. It has always been about you." Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Ziva went on before he could. "You are the only one that is still holding on to the shooting — and I _know_ you are holding on, I saw the way you kept fingering your gun today, you looked nervous, I know you were hoping you would not have to draw it." Tony didn't know what was worse: the fact that she had seen that, or the fact that she was _right_. "Nobody blames you, everyone knows it was not your fault. But you cannot let go. So stop trying to turn everything on me."

There wasn't much Tony could say to _that_. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying like hell to figure out something to say, but to no avail. What _could_ he say?

"You're right."

Well Ziva definitely hadn't been expecting _that_. She blinked, confused, staring at him in what could only be described as shock. "You're right," Tony repeated slowly. "I _am_ holding on to the shooting. I'm holding on because I'm going to use it to keep reminding myself what could happen the next time I make mistake. Next time I might not be so lucky. Next time you _might_ die. I'm tired of _you_ suffering for _my_ mistakes. _You_ suffered because I fired a bad shot, _you_ suffered because I broke protocol and ended up shooting your boyfriend…so yeah, I'm holding on to what happened in that basement. Just like I'm holding on to what happened with Rivkin at your apartment, just like I'm holding on to Jenny dying and you getting blown up in Russia. I'm holding on because you're not getting hurt for my mistakes ever again. Because I'm sick of it. Sorry if you don't understand."

Ziva sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You _do_ need to learn from mistakes," she admitted after a moment. "I understand you wanting to do that. But you need to move on too. You realize what you did wrong, you take the key points from it, and you move on." Tony swallowed hard, his eyes meeting Ziva's after a moment. "You _do_ need to move on."

They were silent for a moment. "And what if you just can't?" Tony asked finally. Ziva smiled softly, hoping she looked encouraging.

"That is the beauty of being human. You can always move on."

Tony blew out a long breath. After a minute he nodded, holding his arms out slightly. Ziva didn't hesitate to step forward, allowing him to envelope her in his grip, and her head came to a rest against his shoulder. Tony ran a hand through her hair, breathing in her scent and sighing deeply.

"You know I need you, right?" Tony murmured finally. Ziva squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing back the lump that was in her throat. That was why EJ had broken up with him. It was why Ray had broken up with her. Because the two of them had such a strange dependency on each other. Because while the possibility of a romantic relationship was out of the question as long as they worked together, it didn't stop them from _needing_ one another.

Because she needed him too.

But nothing could ever come of it.

She didn't answer, but Tony didn't need her to. He'd already made it blatantly clear that he wouldn't be able to handle it if she ever died. And she was no idiot. She knew.

So Tony just held her, relishing in the feeling of having her in his arms and wishing he never had to let go. Wishing he had the courage to break rule twelve with _her_. But he knew he couldn't, not only because she'd never go for it, but because he knew that if he had to choose between his job and her…

He'd choose her every time. And he'd never regret it.

"I should go," Ziva said finally, pulling away. Tony regretted it as soon as space came between them. They stared at each other for a long, long time. Tony didn't know what to say. _'See you tomorrow?'? 'Don't go?'? 'I love you'?_

Those last two wouldn't have gone over too well. And Tony didn't want to settle for saying the first one. Ziva made no move to leave, at least; Tony got the feeling she didn't want to go any more than he wanted her to. Not for the first time, he wished he could read her mind. He needed to know what to say to make all of this right.

It was Ziva, predictably, who broke the silence. "You don't want me to go," she said finally, and Tony shrugged.

"You don't want to go," he retaliated. She didn't have much of an answer to that. It felt like they were stuck in a miserable stalemate, and it was driving Tony nuts; he'd always sucked at chess. "So maybe you could just…stay? Just for tonight?"

Ziva hesitated for a moment before finally nodding, and Tony smiled, just a bit.

At least he was getting tonight.

* * *

><p>Gibbs had to admit, he wasn't surprised when the sound of footsteps on his steps reached his ears. He reached for a glass, dumping out the nuts and bolts that were inside and wiping it out, pouring another glass of bourbon. He knew, without having to look, who it was that had invaded his house on this otherwise quiet night.<p>

"Not working on anything, boss?"

Gibbs slid the glass across his work bench, and Tony sat down, taking it. "Nothing to work on," he said simply. Tony took a sip of the bourbon, turning the glass around in his hand.

The two men sat in silence for a moment, sipping from their respective glasses. "What's going on with you and Ziva?" Gibbs asked finally when he had finished his bourbon and was sure he could deal with whatever answer Tony gave him.

"Nothing." Gibbs raised an eyebrow at his senior agent. "I swear on my life boss, nothing's going on with us."

"You two came in together this morning." It wasn't an accusation. Just a fact. The two of them had stepped off the elevator and walked into the bullpen at the exact same time. It wasn't something that happened very often. Gibbs couldn't help it if he was a little suspicious of the entire thing.

"Yeah. I'm not gonna lie, she spent last night at my apartment. And yeah, we ended up sharing the bed. That's all we did though, boss. She came over to watch a movie, movie ended, we talked…and we both came to the conclusion that she didn't want to leave. So she stayed. Nothing happened though. We both know it can't."

Gibbs poured himself another drink, taking a sip before saying, "Can't or won't?" He asked after a moment. Tony tilted his head, confused. "Maybe you two are just avoiding what might happen because you can't deal with it."

Tony couldn't help but let that get under his skin, just a little. "We're _avoiding_ it because of _your _damn rule," he shot back angrily. A voice in the back of his head told him to shut up, this was _Gibbs_ he was talking to. He ignored it. "We were together those three months you were in Mexico, you know, and we made it work just fine. But you came back, and rule twelve came back, and we had to stop, but you know, for those three months we were together, and we were happy, and it never _once_ affected our work. So no, we're not avoiding a relationship with each other because we can't handle it, we're avoiding it because of _you_."

Oh yeah. He was _so_ getting fired. Gibbs stared at his bourbon for a long time before setting it down on the work bench and turning his complete attention to Tony.

"You must really think I'm an idiot." Not exactly the response Tony had been expecting. "You think I didn't _know_ you and Ziva slept together while I was gone? I was _expecting_ the two of you to sleep together, I wouldn't have been surprised if you kept it up even after I came back. I wouldn't have been surprised if you walked down here tonight and told me you two slept together last night, I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you've been sleeping together since she came back from Somalia!" He didn't sound angry, at least. Just exasperated. Tony stared at him for a long time, his mouth just about on the floor.

"But…rule twelve—?"

"Not one of my better rules."

"But you gave me hell about EJ—"

"Because EJ distracted you," Gibbs explained with the air that he was explaining something simple to a three-year-old. "You weren't focusing, it was affecting your ability to do your job. Ziva makes you want to do better. See the difference?"

Tony looked down at his mostly untouched drink. It had definitely been unsettling, seeing EJ at his crime-scenes, taking orders from her…

"So…if something were to happen with me and Ziva…?"

"Then Abby would find herself coming in to a _lot_ of money and you would both be a hell of a lot happier."

That was all Tony needed to hear. He drained his glass in one long sip and stood up, feeling more confident than he had felt in a _long_ time.

"See you tomorrow boss."

Gibbs watched Tony go, shaking his head a bit. For the love of god, he hoped those two worked something out. If for no other reason just so Abby could _finally_ shut down her betting pool.

* * *

><p>Tony didn't quite remember driving to Ziva's. But he ended up in front of her apartment building, leaning back in his seat, tilting his eyes up until he was sure he was looking at her floor. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing here. What was he supposed to say? <em>Gibbs said it's okay for us to be together? <em>Did she even _want_ a relationship so soon after breaking up with Ray? The two of them had had something pretty serious, maybe she was more upset than she'd let on about that break up. Tony didn't know. He didn't know what he was supposed to do.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled out quickly, surprised, but not really, to find that the text waiting for him was from Ziva.

_Are you just going to sit down there all night?_

Tony stared at his phone for a long time. Finally he just started laughing. Well there was his answer. He climbed out of his car and started towards the building, feeling lighter than he had in a _long_ time. He still had no clue what he was supposed to do, of course. He hadn't brought a movie, hadn't been planning on a movie night tonight. But that was good. Maybe for once they could actually sit down and _talk_.

What a crazy idea _that_ was.

But as he turned down Ziva's hall and found the woman in question standing outside her door, waiting for him, he realized it didn't matter what happened tonight. Would they work out the strange mess that was their relationship? Probably not. No amount of talking would ever work _that _out.

But maybe now they could finally get themselves onto the same level.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So I know most people probably aren't going to be satisfied by this, but I kind of like open endings; leaves things open to the imagination. Besides, if you've been reading my stuff long enough you know that I'm die-hard Tiva, so you can just imagine that from here the night goes on with them confessing their undying love and having hours of mind-numbing sex. Lol. Also, I know people wanted Ziva to come clean to Tony about Somalia - and honestly, I do too. But I'm fairly certain she's taking those stories to the grave...I just couldn't figure out how to work it in.

So that's the end! All and all I think I'm happy with how this story came out. I just want to thank everyone who reviewed and encouraged me — you guys all rock! Thanks a lot!

So what's next? Well I've got my AU baby _Half A World Away_ going, and I started another story a couple weeks ago (I really need school to start — too much time on my hands). Details:

_**Title: **__A Test in Partnership**  
>Rating: <strong>__M**  
>Summary: <strong>__When a routine suspect pick-up turns into a hostage situation, Tony and Ziva find their lives and their partnership in shambles. Will they be able to survive? —Tiva — Warning: mature themes—_

This one's pretty dark, even for me — note the rating and warning. But I'm loving it so far. Probably going to put it up within the next week or so. Hope people are interested.

So that's that for _Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking_. Review and let me know what you thought of this last chapter. Later! ~Sam


End file.
